


Run Off The Worlds

by Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness, Petite_Madame



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2018, Demisexual Bucky Barnes, Dinosaurs, Expect the sane plot of a comic, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Gladiators, M/M, Marvel Noir - Freeform, Multiverse, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Power Swap, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Sex Magic, Slow Burn, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-21 14:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 30,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14917185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness/pseuds/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petite_Madame/pseuds/Petite_Madame
Summary: Getting blasted through the multiverse isn’t on Bucky’s agenda when he steps in Doctor Strange’s Sanctum Sanctorium. Not only do Steve and him have no clue how to get home, but they have to learn how to use their newfound magic, another side effect of said-blast. At least he’s not alone, and it’s not like they could be hunted down by an army of robots, then kidnapped and forced to fight as gladiators, right? Right?This is the result of my collaboration with the wonderful Petite Madame for the Cap RBB 2018.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written in collaboration with Petite Madame for the Cap Reverse Big Bang 2018, she provided the gorgeous art that gave me the inspiration to create the complex plot that was supposed to be 12k but instead ended being almost 30k. 
> 
> I want to thank the Cap RBB mods from creating the event, managing so well all the deadlines and being there all the way through to support both the artists and the writers. Thanks to Petite Madame to being so supportive of my ideas and giving me an occasion to speak in French on Tumblr!
> 
> I also want to give a huge thank you to my beta, [Tristinai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai) or [Bunnylove86](https://bunnylove56.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, this story wouldn't have been the same without her support, fixing my stupid mistakes and pulling up with me in general. She's the queen of angst and you should definitely check out her stories if you want to cry and scream and shake your fist in anger all at the same time. 
> 
> The story is set in a timeline where Infinity War never happened, but everyone still met, because I said so.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

Bucky isn’t sure what happens. One second he’s touching some ancient relic they found in the middle of an old Hydra base, the next there’s a blast throwing him against a wall so hard, he loses consciousness.

At least he’s breathing. He’s aching all over, but breathing. He opens his eyes, groans as he stares directly at the sun above him. Why is he outside? Last he remembers, they were at Dr. Strange's mansion, his _Sanctum Sanctorium_ , that liked to shift around and play with their minds. Bucky isn’t a big fan.

He sits up, his head pounding from hitting the wall. He prods carefully at the back of his head to feel if he’s bleeding, but he’s only bruised. If he has a concussion, it’ll heal quickly. What is odd is that it’s snowing in Dr. Strange's mansion, and he idly wonders if the explosion destroyed part of it.

Except he’s not in the mansion anymore.

Everything is destroyed, or in poor condition. The house he’s in doesn’t have a roof, and the sky is gloomy and dull. A grey layer paints his black pants, and he drags a finger along them. That’s not snow, he realizes. Why is ash falling from the sky?

First, he makes an inventory of his physical state, to make sure he hasn’t sustained any injury other than his head. His back is a bit sore but nothing the serum won’t take care of within the hour. He feels that he's buzzing with an unknown energy, which he credits to the remaining adrenaline. He checks his cellphone. The screen is cracked in a few places, but it's still got juice. No service, however.

He’s half buried under a broken table, so he pushes it away to get to his feet and makes his way out of the house. He stands on the porch and sees other houses destroyed by a catastrophe unknown to him, a residential area with those white picket fences Bucky had dreamed of living in when he was young and poor. This street probably once had been merry and full of life, kids playing around after school before their parents called them in for dinner. Now ash and dust covers their broken homes, broken dreams.

Where is he, and where are the others?

“Steve?” He calls out, his boots leaving footprints behind him as he tries to find any living presence. There’s not even a stray animal in sight. “Wanda?”

He makes it to the end of the street, to an avenue. Cars have been left there, doors open, in the middle of the road. What happened here? He approaches to investigate inside a car when he spots movement in the distance. Whatever it is, it’s large and walks fast. He’s been spotted. Bucky prepares himself for an attack, gripping the knife sheathed at his back, but he relaxes when he realizes it’s Steve.

“Bucky,” he exclaims, blue eyes bright with relief, and then he engulfs him in a hug. Bucky still isn’t used to these new spurts of affection coming from his best friend, so he takes a moment before he returns the embrace. He’s warm, all firm muscles, and Bucky relishes in the feeling of comfort and familiarity.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Steve murmurs in his hair, to which Bucky softly sighs. He pats his back to reassure him that he’s real.

“S’gonna take more than an explosion to get rid of me.”

Steve puffs, releases him. “Do you know where we could be? My phone has no signal.”

“Not a clue. Mine doesn’t either. Most importantly is, how did we get here in the first place? Last thing I remember after I touched that relic was an explosion, then I woke up here.”

“Me too. I hope it wasn’t our key to return home, because I crushed it when I landed here. But…” He retrieves something from his pocket, a clunky double barrel ring that should be in a museum and is definitely not a fashion statement. “There was this ring inside.”

“Odd. Why would someone hide an ugly ring in a relic?”

“I don’t know.” They stare at it, ash still falling on them. Bucky probably won’t be able to get it all out of his hair at this point.

“Let’s find shelter, then we can figure out where we are,” Steve finally says. There’s a line between his brows that betrays his worry, his mouth turned downward. Last time Bucky had seen that expression on him was when he told him he was being shipped off, ages ago.

“We need to find Wanda and Dr. Strange. They can’t be far.”

Bucky's first instinct is to find height to survey the area, and he spots the perfect place to do so. He points to a high tower far away that somehow has managed not to be destroyed. “Let’s go there.”

“I bet Tony built it.”

Bucky snorts, because yeah, the guy is obnoxious and likes to make his creations shiny and bigger than they need to be, and this tower definitely fills those two criteria. There’s no one in sight, not a soul, as they walk. There are golden pyramids around them, rust slowly but surely conquering them. Bucky’s never seen anything like that.

“Have you ever seen those things before?”

“Only in Mexico, and they’re not made of metal… I’ve had a weird feeling ever since I woke up.”

“Yeah? Me too.”

“What if… we’re not on Earth anymore? The materials of the buildings and their architecture are some that I’ve never seen before, and the ash? It’s making me feel weird.”

“Weird how?”

Steve makes a frustrated sound. “Fidgety, like I’m catching a bug, but I can’t be sick.”

“I feel the same. Maybe we’re in _Silent Hill_ , stuck in another dimension,” Bucky suggests. At Steve’s questioning look, he laughs. “It’s a game. Shuri showed it to me, thought it would scare me.” He hasn’t had the heart to tell her real life is much scarier than any imaginary monster.

Everywhere he looks, there’s decay, houses and stores and cars left abandoned. People left in a hurry, but the weirder thing is the lack of animals as well. Even the vegetation has suffered, the few trees they see all twisted and blackened, as if rotting alive. They landed in a dead city, and yet, the tall tower is the only building untouched by all of this. Bucky would bet his new arm it has something to do with whatever happened.

“I knew this was Stark’s doing,” Bucky says when they get close enough to discern the plaque on the facade. The entrance doors are locked, but Bucky forces them open without remorse, Steve close behind him. Bucky is glad to finally be sheltered, and he immediately begins to remove as much ash as he can. He tucks his gloves in his pocket and is shocked to notice the ash has somehow gotten in his metal arm. This will never go away, and now he only has one hand if he doesn’t want to smear himself with the grey stuff. He begins to untie his hair and struggles with the tie.

“Let me?” Steve asks him with amusement, and Bucky is confused for a moment until he sees his raised hands, clean. He shrugs, but he holds his breath when Steve shakes his hair, fingers gentle and careful against his scalp. Ash falls between them, but Bucky barely notices. His body almost vibrates as he stares at Steve’s face, those eyes that always see too much of him and still don’t recoil from him.

“That’s as good as it'll get, for the moment,” Steve says, ignorant of Bucky’s inner turmoil. In fact he seems to be dealing with one of his own, if the faint blush on his cheeks when he turns around to brush his own clothes off means anything.

Bucky has to clear his throat a few times to make it work. “This looks like they were working on a big project.”

They stand in a tall lobby, the only light pouring dimly through the windows. The marble floor is immaculate, the pale walls decorated with medals and photos of employees. Bucky doesn’t recognize any, except for the portrait of Stark. It’s not Tony but it’s a Stark for sure, deep brown hair turning grey at the temples and familiar features. He reminds him of Howard.

There’s a control panel against the wall beside the front desk. Steve fidgets a moment with it, then the lights turn on, blinding Bucky.

“At least the power’s working,” Steve says. They do a perimeter sweep of the first floor, but there’s nothing of interest, rotten flowers giving an overly sweet smell that sticks to Bucky’s nostrils. He returns to the front desk to boot up the computer, sweeping the thick layer of dust off the keyboard.

“If this place ever had been a corporation, they at least would’ve had their logo displayed,” he says while the computer starts. It requires a password, so he fumbles through the drawers and instead finds an energy bar he’s never seen before. That must be a new one, because he knows all of them. It doesn’t taste bad though.

“Try the post-it taped to the screen,” Steve says behind him, amusement in his voice. Bucky frowns when he sees it. How did he miss it? He gives the remaining half of the bar to Steve and types in the password, which grants him access. The first thing Bucky checks is the date. March 29th, 2048. “Fuck.”

Steve’s face darkens. He squeezes his shoulder, the one where human flesh meets vibranium. “If we jumped in time, at least we have each other.” He searches through the drawers Bucky hasn’t, finds a business card.

“Arno Stark, CEO of Resilient. I never heard of him, but if it’s indeed 2048, it could be Tony’s son.”

“Or a long lost cousin.” Bucky checks for any other clues on the computer, but the internet is offline.

There are a few icons in the task bar – apparently _Solitaire_ is still a thing – but only one on the desktop, so Bucky clicks on it.

“Control access? Huh.” There are a lot of options in the application, among them he can select which doors to unlock, even open an elevator.

“Wait. _Elevator to the orbit_? What is that?”

The wall at the end of the hall opens up, panels sliding on both side to reveal the slick interior of an elevator.

“Let’s see what’s upstairs.”

Steve, never to linger around, heads over, and Bucky follows him with a sigh. He really wants to understand what’s going on.

“How many weapons do you have on you?” Steve asks him as the doors close. When Bucky shoots him a look, he adds, “I know you, you bring at least two knives when we go grocery shopping.”

“ _Three_ is grocery shopping. I might have a few more than that. And stop pretending you don’t have your shield, punk.” He rolls his shoulder, trying to get rid of the odd feeling gathering in his arm.

“Is it hurting?” Steve is starting to become his protective self, so Bucky shakes his head to calm him down.

“Weird, not painful.” His new arm has highly improved nerve endings and nociceptors, much more sensitive than an average human’s, but what he feels is coursing through it without hurting him. He could feel the unknown symbiont probing at him, like a non-threatening mental poke. Very odd, but not painful.

“Then why are you fidgeting so much?” Steve frowns, still worried.

“I think—” He swallows the lump in his throat, looks at his flesh hand. It’s tingling. He imagines focusing the energy in it, forcing it out. There’s nothing at first, as if it’s taunting him, then when he’s about to lose patience, a light flickers in his palm. He gasps. A red sort of mist is wrapping itself around his hand. He shakes it out of reflex, and both Steve and him watch the energy fly across the elevator and hit one of the walls.

They’re lucky the wall is sturdy enough to take the blast, otherwise they would have had another problem on their hands. Bucky focuses again, and this time the magic comes more easily to him. It slides between his fingers, hovers above his palm.

“It’s Wanda’s magic,” Steve states, bewildered.

“That’s what I thought too.”

“The magical object didn’t just teleport us to wherever this place is…”

Bucky looks up at Steve, notices how freaked out he is. Luckily the elevator’s doors open with a ding, distracting them from their new discovery... only to step in another one.

Space, all around them. The station is almost made entirely of glass, giving them nearly a 360 degree view of the stars and the moon, they’re all so close to them. Bucky can see other stations like theirs, but what frightens him is the Earth below them. It’s so dark. There’s no life remaining on it, the few glimmering lights covered in ash.

“That’s not our planet,” he realizes with an exhale, relieved.

Steve leans against one of the few metal frames. His shoulders are slouched, and he’s breathing faster than usual. Bucky slowly approaches him, presses his metal hand between his shoulder blades.

“Hey… it’s going to be fine,” he tries his best to comfort him.

Steve weakly nods, but keeps his back to him. He doesn’t want to show his weaknesses, even when Bucky has seen all of them already.

“You’re scared you skipped some time again,” Bucky suddenly understands. He sighs, slides his hand down around his waist in a semblance of embrace. Steve lets him.

He can’t say he gets what Steve is going through; he lost years of his life himself but he still witnessed the world evolve around him, has been somehow part of it. Steve hasn’t. He had gone under in the 40s and woke up in the 21st century like it was the next day for him. And now he can’t help but think it’s happening again, that he’s lost everything again.

“Whatever happens, you have me, pal. Don’t think you’re alone in this.”

“I know. It’s just…” He takes a long shuddering breath. “What the fuck happened for us to be sent here, you with Wanda’s powers and me…” He stops, body tense.

“What about you?”

Steve finally turns to him, his eyes a bit red but with a new goal in mind. “How did your magic feel?”

Bucky’s chest flares with pride at his friend’s will. He squeezes his waist before letting him go. “I can feel it in my chest, mostly.”

Steve searches the pockets of his coat to retrieve the double barrel ring he woke up with. After exchanging a look with Bucky, he slips it on the index and middle fingers of his right hand. “It has to have a connection with us being here.”

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes to concentrate. Bucky gives him space, lets him search for that oddity in him that somehow feels familiar.

Here he is, in a space station hovering above an unknown planet and waiting for his best friend of almost a century to manifest his own magic. What has his life become?

Steve has always been stubborn, making things his way even when all the odds are against him. This time is no different.

Bucky senses the air shift around them, not certain whether it’s his assassin skills or this newfound magic that detects the change. The hairs at the back of his neck rise, the power wild and untamed and capable of destroying everything around them. Steve doesn’t let it, forcing it to his will, until something phases out of his hands, shimmery and golden. He gasps, his shoulders dropping from that released magic. The gold grows, grows, until it becomes a circle.

It’s a portal, the kind he’s seen Dr. Strange create before. He mentioned that he needs magical objects to perform certain spells, Bucky now remembers.

When Bucky looks into the golden circle, he’s presented with another scene. It’s not space anymore, but a jungle, green and inviting. No ash in sight.

“Shall we go?” He extends his hand to Steve, who shoves the ring back in one of his pockets.

“How can you be so calm?” Steve asks him, peering into the portal.

“I have a new objective; it helps my sanity.”

“And what is that objective?” Still, Steve takes his hand, big and warm.

Bucky smiles. “Bring you back home.”

Together, they walk through the portal.

 

 

The stark change is immediate. Gone are the absence of sounds, the fluorescent lights of the station and the lugubrious atmosphere of a dead world. They step in a jungle; vibrant, immense, and full of life, but most of all, the rain – _no ash! -_ is so strong, it soaks them to the bone in less than a minute.

A laugh escapes Steve, even if he’s unstable on his feet. “I did it!” Steve grabs his arm in his excitement, and Bucky grins back at him. He’s happy to be here with Steve, even as rain is pelting down on them, cleansing them. He had never realized sweatshirts can become see-through when wet and tight against the body, but apparently they can.

“We gotta find shelter,” he croaks out, then has to repeat himself louder over the heavy rain. Steve looks dazed after his first use of magic, so Bucky lets him lean against him while he checks their perimeter. They’re in the middle of a jungle, no roads or any signs of civilisation in sight. There must be a reason why the portal has brought them here, he reasons, and so they begin to walk in what they hope to be the right direction, the sun close to the horizon. He’s scared they’ll be stuck in the dark without any protection or knowledge of where they are.

He thinks about climbing a tree, to get a better view around, but the rain would be hiding any light or smoke around, and he doesn’t want to risk falling from the slippery trunk.

Bucky hates that he can barely see and hear their surroundings, in a completely unknown area. He’s seen Wanda use her magic before, hadn’t she made barriers before? Perhaps he could as well. He calls his power again, and this time the magic comes to him more easily. It spreads from his fingertips into an arch, wider and wider, until it shields both of their heads.

“Makeshift umbrella, that’s clever,” Steve says and flips his hair away from his face, wet strands clinging to his forehead and flushed cheeks. Water is gathering in his lashes, making them darker; his eyes, bluer. Bucky fights hard to maintain the shield at the rush of attraction that pools low in his belly.

He sees much better that way, the rain muted as well around them. They continue to walk through the dense jungle, careful of any danger. There are alligators and weird insects in jungles, right? He’s never been in such places, not as Bucky anyway. The rain and the notion they have no clue where they or Wanda and Dr. Strange are dull the experience a bit, but he still marvels at where their misadventures have brought them.

“What are you thinking about?” Steve asks him, nudging him with his shoulder. “You look calm.”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t remember the last time I went on a vacation. I was just thinking that this is a place I’d like to spend some time off at, given we’re not possibly stuck in another universe.”

“I don’t remember either. Tell you what, when we return home, let’s take a few weeks off to go somewhere like here and relax, alright?”

“If it’s nowhere near a volcano, I’m good.”

“Why? Oh, the ash…” Steve chuckles. “I feel like you’ll be talking about it for months to come.”

“For as long as I keep finding some in my arm,” Bucky grumbles.

They find a dirt road. It’s more mud than a real road at this point, but it doesn’t matter to them. If there’s a road, there must be an establishment alongside it.

The rain doesn’t calm down as they follow the road, it gets worse. Bucky maintains the shield as long as he can, but he has no training nor real control over his newly acquired magic. He’s losing the fight, pebbles of rain piercing through until there are more holes than actual barrier.

Steve attempts a shield of his own, gold sparkling from his hands, but before he can summon it, Bucky is pointing something.

“Over there.” They discover a cabin as they rush forward, Bucky using his other senses because he can barely see at this point. He climbs the stairs leading to the porch and unlocks the door with magic before he thinks about it, then realizes what he’s achieved with surprise. He enters the small place, Steve right behind him.

They stop in the entrance, wet and miserable. They both hate the cold.

“You okay?” Steve asks him, that overprotective little shit, and Bucky snorts.

“As fine as you.”

Steve has a crooked smirk, understanding. He starts to say something, but shakes his head and turns around. They stand in the living room, where a fireplace takes a large portion of it, and Steve begins stacking it with the wood on the side. While he does that, Bucky does a sweep of the cabin.

It’s quite cozy, and must run on some sort of generator because there are light switches and appliances in the kitchen area. He bets the generator is at the back, and since he’s not working on the fire, he goes out. The porch goes all around the house and is covered by the roof, so at least he doesn’t get more wet while he walks to the back to find the generator locked in a gate by a heavy padlock. Well, that’s too bad, he thinks as he crushes it in his metal hand. He turns it on, satisfied to hear it come to life with a soft hum. He returns inside. His coat is useless at this point, so he removes it and hangs it beside the door.

“We should have lights now…” He flips the switch on, and there is indeed light. Steve is feeding embers dry bark and rolled up newspapers.

“Need a hand?” he asks him, but Steve shakes his head.

“I’m good, thanks. Can you check if there’s any towels, or maybe bed sheets?”

“Sure.”

The front door gives directly to a small living room with a couch, a bookshelf and a large circular fireplace, a huge abstract painting taking most of the wall behind the couch. There’s also a kitchenette towards the back, with an oven that works on propane, and a table that separates the two areas. Bucky investigates the two other rooms, a bedroom and a tiny bathroom. There’s a shower and a sink with running water. He searches through the cupboards and finds towels smelling of mothballs. It’ll do.

He gets one for Steve and uses the other for his hair, which has been dripping water down his neck and face the whole time. He returns to the living room, hands it to Steve. The fire at this point has a life of its own, bright and getting bigger by the minute, and _warm._

Steve thanks him and begins to dry his hair. He removes his coat with a shiver, and it reveals how skintight his sweater is underneath, plastered to him. Bucky could trace his muscles through the fabric. It gets worse when Steve peels it off, then his pants, hanging them on the back of a chair, until he’s only in his boxers. Fuck, Bucky shouldn’t be so tongue-tied by seeing his best friend in his underwear, but he’s never been caught in a cabin in the jungle alone with him before either. He distracts himself by checking his phone, glad it’s somewhat dry, but there’s no reception here either. He idly thinks he could take some pictures at least.

He peels off his tongue from the roof of his mouth, stops staring at the wide expanse of his back and his broad shoulders, and he starts laying his knives on the only table in the house, ignoring Steve’s snort. They’ve kept him alive all this time, they deserve to be treated well. Once done, he then gets rid of his own clothes, grumbling to himself when they stick to his damp skin and refuse to budge. He nearly rips them, but he manages, shivering once he’s in his underwear. He approaches the growing fire and soaks in the warmth.

“The couch can probably be turned into a bed,” he tells Steve, who’s busy browsing the kitchenette for food. He’s always hungry, after all. He finds something that isn’t rotten or expired, because he’s munching on something when he comes back to Bucky.

“Salty crackers, really?”

“Expiration says 2020,” Steve shrugs. Bucky takes one and yeah, it’s still good, but there’s got to be something better than that. It also makes his mouth even more dry after hours of walking and no water. He first helps Steve to pull the couch into a bed, which isn’t the most convenient but they have had worse. Bucky has slept directly on the floor numerous times while he would wait for his next target, so the couch is still a level up, and neither of them want to sleep in the cold bedroom.

They throw some sheets and pillows on the bare mattress, and it looks comfortable enough for Bucky. He lets Steve finish up while he finds something more sustainable for them. There are cans of diced tomatoes and black beans, then corn; pepper and some other spices aligned beside the sink. Bucky doesn’t bother heating things, he just dumps everything in a big bowl to mix together, then divides the meal in two. He also finds glasses and fill them with water from the tap once it stops running brown.

“The magic of canned food.” He offers a bowl to Steve, who’s already under the covers. He looks exhausted. Using his magic might require more energy than he lets on. He gets in beside him, and they eat in silence. Outside, the night has settled and the rain is still going strong, beating against the aluminum roof. With the fire, it’s almost homely.

He finds himself leaning against Steve, or maybe they lean against each other. They’ve shared a bed before, a long time ago, when Steve was still all skinny limbs and illnesses were conquering his body. He remembers endless nights where he’d lain beside him, trying to take care of his friend while waiting for him to die, because he had been sure this was it for him. Bucky should have known better, nothing could beat that stubbornness, not even Death.

“You think we’re back in our universe?” he quietly asks, staring at the fire. Steve makes a small noise, moves a bit to put their bowls on the floor, but he quickly returns in the same position, his bare arm warm alongside his.

“I doubt it, I feel like we’re not. Once I figure out these powers, I can take us back…” he plays with the big ring still on his hand. His jaw is set, and Bucky quickly figures out what’s on his mind.

“You’re not responsible for what happened, you know.”

Steve huffs, looking at him sideways. “Maybe not teleporting us at first, but I have the ability to—”

“Stop that.” Bucky grips his ringed hand. “Neither of us know how to really control these new powers. I honestly have no clue what Dr. Strange is capable of, other than weird stuff, but I’ve been working alongside Wanda for a while now, I’ve seen her use her psionic powers. Have you seen Dr. Strange fight before?”

Steve sighs, knowing where this is going, but still answers a very petulant, “No.”

“Have you read his file?”

Now Steve’s glaring at him, which is better than seeing him brooding. “Yes, and there’s barely any information on his magical abilities in it.”

“Well, there. You have your answer. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty tired after all this traveling, so I suggest we both get a night of sleep before we try to figure out what we’ll next do, alright?”

Steve nods, his features softening. “You’re right. Rest will help us figure out a better plan.”

The star-spangled man with a plan, everyone.

“I just need something to tie my hair, I hate sleeping with it loose,” Bucky replies with a smile, then starts to get up. He faintly remembers he’s only in his underwear when Steve’s gaze follows the path of the blanket down his torso, so intense he can almost feel it. He must realize he’s staring, because he suddenly turns away and starts fiddling with his cellphone.

“I saw some in the bathroom,” he comments nonchalantly, the back of his neck red.

Well then. There are indeed ties in the cabinet, as well as a brush. Bucky brushes the knots out, but it’s still a damp mess, so he puts it in a bun and calls it quits.  He’ll deal with it in the morning. He finishes getting ready for bed and leaves the bathroom to Steve.

Once he settles in the bed, he relaxes into the hard mattress. It’s been a long day, traveling through worlds and all that. On a whim he tries to make a small statue of a kangaroo from the bookshelf levitate. Tendrils of red wrap themselves around the object, raise it in the air. Bucky lets out a chuckle of disbelief and urges it toward Steve who’s heading back. He doesn’t really control it well enough though and it ends up flying much faster at his face than he anticipated. Steve sees it in time and dodges with an undignified yelp.

The look on his face is enough to make Bucky cackle. He tries to explain he meant to make it fly around him, not at him, but he simply can’t stop laughing.

“You just wait, I’ll get my revenge,” Steve grumbles, but he’s grinning, shoving him playfully when he curls his tall frame in bed so his feet fit in.

“I swear I didn’t mean to do that,” Bucky finally says, once he’s calmed down.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” Steve’s voice is muffled in his pillow. He turns his head to glare at him, and Bucky can’t help but muffle his hair with his metal hand, grinning before he settles down too.

He’s missed this.

Falling asleep is easier than he imagines it would be. It might have to do with his bed companion, close enough to share some of his body warmth. Bucky’s quite cozy, and soon he stops thinking.

He dreams he’s back in the 30s with Steve, then somehow they’re drinking coffee with a golden robot wearing a green cape. The man talks, but Bucky doesn’t understand what he’s saying, and when he turns to Steve for help, it’s not Steve anymore, but a white wolf. It stares back at him.

He wakes up, groggy and not knowing where he is. Is this another Hydra assignment? Then the arm around him shifts and oh, he remembers now.

He’s not controlled by Hydra. He’s Bucky Barnes, not the Winter Soldier. Besides, he’s never been accompanied by a super soldier on a mission, and certainly not one that spoons him in his sleep.

Steve’s curled against his back, his legs entangled with Bucky’s and his nose pressed against the base of his hairline. Bucky doesn’t want to move, so he doesn’t. Steve’s regular breathing lulls him back to sleep, and next thing he knows he’s waking up again.

The sun is rising, wild animals chattering outside, and it’s way hotter than last night. Normal jungle temperatures, he reckons. Steve is not with him, but he can hear him outside, so he doesn’t worry. Instead he goes to the bathroom to take care of his business and shower. He slept very well; he looks rested when he checks himself in the mirror. That’s a different sight than the one he’s grown used to, even if his beard could use a trimming.

There’s toothpaste beside the sink that Steve left for him, so he brushes his teeth as best he can before walking outside. The sun is creeping between the trees, making the scenery around the house surreal. Everything is so green, the air fresh and humid from the rain.

Steve is practicing on the side of the house. He’s focused on twirling a long golden whip of magic, showing no sign of stopping at Bucky’s appearance. His bare torso bears red angry marks he’s inflicted on himself, the sweat pouring down his back proving he’s been at it for a while.

“Morning,” Bucky calls out, scratching a spot on his pectoral.

“Hey,” Steve replies. He finally stops, his chest heaving, and Bucky tries not to stare. He pushes back some hair damp with sweat. “I think I’m getting the hang of this.”

“That’s good. What are you able to do?”

Steve's magic answers him quickly, gathering in his hands. “I can shape it however I imagine it. I tried a shield, a spear and a whip so far.”

“It’s great, considering neither of us know the full extent of Dr. Strange’s abilities.”

Steve smiles, pleased. “Thanks.”

Bucky stretches, looking up, and he laughs when he notices something in the trees near them. They’re plantain or banana trees, Bucky doesn’t really know the difference, but he’s glad to see them. Steve follows his gaze.

“Care for a banana?” Bucky asks, and Steve snorts. On a whim, Bucky focuses his magic, pushing it under his feet and upwards. It’s a bit precarious at first, he could seriously injure himself, but Steve will be here to catch him.

He looks up again, and yes, he’s levitating, he realizes with amazement. He reaches out and plucks the bananas right out of their tree. Steve wears a soft expression when he returns to him, his landing lacking gracefulness, but he doesn’t care. Who’s never dreamt of flying?

“That’s quite something, isn’t it?” Steve comments, and Bucky is pretty sure he’s not just referring to his flying attempt.

“It is. Wanna grab a shower?”

Steve looks at himself, suddenly self-conscious. It’s almost hilarious. “Sure. Did you notice this place is completely homemade? The water system is connected to a well so it collects the rain water during the rain season. It’s well done.”

Bucky assesses him, hugging his load against his chest. “I didn’t know you had an interest in house building.”

Steve shrugs. “I’d been thinking of building one, before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I knew you were still alive,” Steve admits, hands on hips. He doesn’t hesitate to meet his gaze. For once Bucky has nothing to say, so he watches him disappear inside in silence.

He hadn’t known. He doubts any of the Avengers know. He’s certain Steve has kept his plans to himself until they’ve become obsolete. To build a house and live in it, away from his role as Captain America. The revelation leaves a bitter taste in Bucky's mouth. Someone else he’s stolen dreams from.

He returns inside after a few minutes, drops the bananas on the kitchenette counter. He eats one, confirming it’s a banana and not a plantain. It’s sweet, much better than the ones he has in New York. There’s nothing in the pantry to eat them with, but perhaps there are other fruits outside?

He first puts his shirt back on and his knives, which never fails to calm him down, and his phone. It’s too hot to wear his coat. He can already feel the sweat gathering under the straps on his back and shoulders.

His quest to find fruits around the house is actually relaxing, gives his mind a break from their current predicament. He brings along a cloth bag he finds in the pantry. He doesn’t forget that they’re in unknown territory, so he keeps a careful eye on their surroundings, but he doesn’t see anything through the thick jungle.

He uses his magic once again to levitate up to the fruits, and he collects mangoes, more bananas, some small orange fruits that aren’t actually oranges – they taste bitter -, and what appears to be melons. He then snaps photos of the house, the scenery, just in case.

When he returns inside, Steve is sitting at the only table and tuning a portable radio. A song screeches with static, but it emits clearly with Steve’s patience and steady fingers. Bucky takes a photo of that, too, before turning his phone off.

He puts down his bag beside Steve, the fruits spilling and rolling around. “Looks like we both found something.”

“Yeah, I’m hoping to get some idea of where we are with this. The architecture of this place is contemporary, at least closer to the 21st century’s than the ash universe, but it could be an older house too. I’ve seen newspapers older than 2018.”

“You did your research.”

Steve shrugs. “Better than moping around and feeling guilty about this whole situation.”

Bucky bites his bottom lip, a drop of sweat sliding down his temple and in his beard. He decides not to comment on it, because Steve always has been too hard on himself, still often thinks of himself as this undeserving small asthmatic kid who was too weak to get out during winter without wearing three layers of clothes.

He goes to the kitchenette to retrieve bowls to put the fruit shells in. Steve and him eat while they listen to the radio, the fruits delicious and juicy and making a mess all over the table. 

“And now for the news,” a radio host speaks once the song ends, something fast-paced Bucky’s never heard before. The man has an Australian accent, which determines at least the country they’re in. “Another attempt at capturing the Avengers has caused some destruction in Maryland, United States. There has been no confirmation whether or not the Avengers have been neutralized, and General Ross hasn’t commented on the matter. More information will follow about Project Echelon.”

“Why would they chase us?” Steve frowns, munching on a melon slice. His fingers are wet and slippery with juice, and so are Bucky’s. He hopes it doesn’t make his metal hand sticky.

“Wasn’t Ross the one creating the Accords?”

“Yes…” They finish up their meal, when they both realize the same thing.

“The Avengers haven’t signed the Accords here, so Ross decided to chase us - them, the Avengers of this universe, and probably all super humans who refused to sign.”

“How exactly do you think Ross finds those super humans?” Bucky ponders aloud. “According to Tony, Wanda creates bursts of electromagnetic radiation around her when she uses magic…”

Steve looks at Bucky, his face losing all colour. He gets up, the chair scraping against the wooden floor. “We need to move.”

They quickly wash their hands and get their coats. Not knowing how super humans are chased means they could be hunted down as well. Fear knots Bucky’s stomach, a feeling he recognizes from his time running away from Hydra. He doesn’t want to do this again.

Steve’s strapping his shield to his arm when they get out of the house. Bucky regrets to leave it in such a state, without even writing down a note to apologize. He’s left places in a worst state in the past, but still.

“Let’s continue on the same road from yesterday,” he’s saying, “this house couldn’t have been built in the middle of nowhere. There must be a village or a town nearby.”

“I believe your journey ends here, Captain Rogers,” someone replies before Bucky does, and they stop in their tracks. The air shimmers before them, and a dozen men lift their invisibility shield. What had been nothing but tall trees and bushes is now filled with soldiers. They all look the same, their red eyes glowing, except for the older man in front of them. Bucky guesses it’s the leader. It’s not Ross, but he holds himself with the same arrogance, his chin lifted just a little higher than necessary. Bucky has seen people like him before; has been controlled, tortured, and trained to kill people like him.

“Who the hell are you?” he asks, calculating their chances of making it out alive.

“I’m Fortean and the one in charge of bringing you back dead or alive. Last I’d heard of you, you were hiding in the United States with Betty Ross, not shacked in the middle of Australia.”

Bucky and Steve look at each other. The prospect of another Steve Rogers somewhere is odd, and Bucky hopes they don’t run into their doppelgangers. That would be awkward; he’s not sure he wants to know how he fares in other universes. He doesn’t know who this Betty Ross is, but if she’s related to the other Ross, then he understands why she’d want to hide from him.

“Now, Rogers, will you and your friend surrender peacefully, or do I need to let you have a private conversation with my soldiers?”

Bucky frowns, shifts to widen his legs and takes a defensive posture. He calculates the many offensive routes he could take with this. He has his knives, his arm, and magic at his disposal, let alone a pissed off Steve at his side.

“I suggest you turn around while you still have the chance,” he grits out, his arm’s mechanism hissing when he closes his hand in a fist.

The man laughs. “Seriously? You think you scare me?” He gestures at his soldiers, who move forward. “Have it your way.”

Steve takes a long breath, bracing himself. He meets the first soldier with his shield, slams it across his face. When it turns around, Bucky is barely surprised to see a robot’s mechanism peeking through. An army of robot soldiers to get rid of super humans.

Well, Bucky is part cyborg too, and his punches are stronger.

He proves it by hitting the closest soldier’s chest, then throws a knife at another. Soon Steve and him are fighting back to back in a sea of robots. Steve’s magic sparkles golden and blue as he throws soldiers away, breaks their bodies in half with his mind. He fights like he’s furious at them, angry at the world. Bucky is no better, giving just as hard.

They take down a dozen of the robots, but another row of them open fire with machine guns. They both raise a magical shield, Steve’s bright and larger than Bucky’s, who changes tactics and instead grabs a soldier’s foot and uses its body like a scythe to sideswipe its peers, sending them flying through the trees.

Bucky hears a helicopter before he sees it, and it’s dragging a big robot suit. It’s launched down, its weight breaking trees, and Fortean, who has stayed behind, climbs in it. The kind of robot that Tony would be laughing at, big and clunky. It reminds Bucky of the Power Armor in the Fallout games some kids have shown to him in Wakanda, but army green instead of steel. If this thing throws rockets or whatever at them, they’re fucked. Bucky hasn’t fought this hard getting his life back for nothing, and he certainly won’t allow Steve to be killed in another universe.

Whatever that exploding relic that has started all of this is, it’s trying to kill the both of them.

Bucky yells in anger, sends a wave of energy around them powerful enough to disrupt the soldiers, frying some of them, and then he pushes himself right in that machine. He punches the glass, watches with satisfaction the man’s look of fear when it cracks, and he punches it again and again with his metal fist. It breaks, and he barely notices the shards cutting through his clothes as he makes to grab the man’s face. Fortean steps away and manages to dodge him, but Bucky has little patience left. He uses his legs to propel himself forward, slams his metal shoulders against the robot. It takes the hit with a stumble and a dent, but doesn’t fall.

Fortean raises an arm, starts shooting. It’s an automated rifle, not missiles, at least. Bucky jumps on the side to evade, rolls in the dirt to get in a blind spot and grab one of the legs. With a grunt of effort, he pulls and flips the whole suit to the ground. He climbs before Fortean rolls away, reaches the broken faceplate. The general is a skillful combatant, but he’s not the White Wolf. After a hard punch to the jaw, Bucky manages to get a hold of him, his metal fingers closing tight around his neck. He feels him swallow to not choke on his own blood.

“Who the fuck are you?” Fortean spits out, his teeth red. The arms can’t pivot at this angle, so he’s completely at Bucky’s mercy.

“The wrong guy to fuck with,” Bucky grits out before he’s sending his magic in Fortean’s head. It finds and conquers everything, searches his worst nightmares to push his consciousness to believe they’re reality.

That spell takes a lot more energy than he expects, and he stumbles back, away from the man who doesn’t move from the ground, his face contorted in fear. He won’t be a problem for them anymore.

He staggers on his feet but manages to stay upright. Steve is still fighting the remaining robots, golden whip causing a lot of damage, but Bucky can hear more coming. They won’t be able to keep this up, he already feels drained. It doesn’t stop him from jumping on a robot and breaking its neck when it gets too close to Steve.

“We gotta get out of here,” he shouts at him, fighting another. It manages to graze his shoulder with a knife, and Bucky isn’t happy about it. “Get in the house and open a portal, Steve!”

He knows Steve wants to argue, because leaving him means letting him fight against five of those enhanced robots, but they don’t have time for this. He opens the door with his magic and shoves Steve in that direction. He hopes Steve will do as he asks, for once.

He dodges and blocks the robots fighting in sync, limbs twisting and defying a normal human’s flexibility. He spots an M-16 laying in the grass and uses the last remnants of his magic to call it to him. He steps away from incoming attacks and opens fire.

It’s odd that they look so much like humans, for they don’t bleed, just lay where they’ve fallen and never stand up again. Their eyes turn off, lifeless.

He runs back to the house, pressing his metal fingers against the wound on his shoulder. Inside, Steve is laying against the table, his face pale, but the portal stands before him. Bucky sweeps an arm around Steve’s waist and helps him to it. They step through the portal just as more robots burst in the house.

 

 

They land in a dark alley, Steve quickly closing the portal behind them. He’s breathing hard, loosely holding onto his shoulder. Bucky helps him to stay upright and inspects him to find his wound, only helped by the low yellow cast of a nearby street light. He finds blood seeping through his shirt, and he swiftly lifts it up to reveal a bullet wound. He purses his lips, angry that he haven’t caused more damage to the robots. He presses his hand against it to stop the bleeding, but it won’t be enough. Steve grunts in pain, hiding his face against his shoulder.

“Hey, cut it out,” someone shouts from a window above them, and Bucky can easily imagine what it sounds like; a quick fumble in a back alley. He checks if there’s an exit wound on his back, but there’s none. The bullet is still inside, which means Steve will start healing around it, and removing it will be even more of a pain in the … well, stomach.

Bucky looks around them, and he thinks he recognizes the place.

“Come on, we gotta treat your wound,” he gently tells Steve, helping him forward.

“I tried to bring us home,” Steve manages to say.

Oh, Bucky thinks, he did bring them home. Only not their current one. He recognizes the street where they stand, for Bucky and Steve used to hang out here in their youth. The filth, the smells, the lingering despair… It’s the Great Depression.

There’s a bar they used to frequent, somewhat clean, with booze that tasted like alcoholised piss. Many bars and other leisure places had closed in the 30s, but somehow, this bar had managed to keep enough clientele to keep business going. All those unemployed workers, drinking and gambling their misery away.

It’s where they both first got drunk after he landed a job at the docks. It’s where he would pick up women and men and fuck them in the bathroom, a bitter taste in his mouth when he imagined them being someone else. It’s where he had told Steve he’d enlisted in the army and was to leave soon.

Bucky recognizes the music streaming through the closed door.

Steve seems to remember as well, even if his eyes are glassy with pain as he looks around. “Not our home anymore.“ He groans. “Think they’d take their chance again at beating me in that alley?”

Bucky huffs in annoyance. Steve has been fighting against bullies most of his life, even when his own body was his biggest enemy. “I think one bullet is enough. We’re best not to bring attention to ourselves.” At least they both have long coats that were typical for that time, even if theirs are of a thicker material than what was used… and bloodier, Bucky thinks as he notices the stains on Steve’s. His own light pants are dirty from their jungle excursion, but he can blame it on charcoal stains.

His long hair isn’t really in style, as the fashion is cropped and greased back. By some miracle Steve finds a beret that someone probably has lost on a fence. Finders keepers, so Bucky puts it on, ignoring Steve’s staring. He’s never liked these stupid hats.

“How do I look?” he asks him instead. Steve clears his throat, hisses in discomfort when he shifts to button up his coat.

“Like a rugged Cary Grant.”

Bucky snorts in disbelief and follows Steve inside. Yeah, right. Everything is the same as he remembers, the long wooden counter, the few tables with mismatching chairs. There are a few patrons, but no one gives them a second look when they head for the bathroom.

“Sorry pals, bathroom’s for customers only.” Except for the bartender, it seems.

Bucky inwardly swears. He remembers the strict rule of no toilet without paying for a drink, but he doesn’t carry around bills from the 30s in his wallet in case he would go back in time or step into another universe that uses the same currency. 

“What do we do?” Bucky whispers to Steve, who shakes his head. He bites his lips and faces the older man to invent a story for him, but the bartender makes a startled noise, his meaty hands dropping the rag he’s been using to wipe a glass.

“Bucky?” he asks in surprise, before he’s letting out a loud laugh. With a start, Bucky recognizes the man too.

“Mr. Smith, long time no see.” It's so odd to see the old man again, and for him to know who he is. Old habits die hard through the multiverse, it seems.

“I’m glad to see you, boy. I wasn’t sure you…” Mr. Smith stops, but Bucky understands. The neverending wonder of who’s made it, who died in times of war, and who’s managed to come back. “You need to use the bathroom, go ahead, and then drinks are on me.”

Bucky glances at Steve. Mr. Smith always had a soft spot for him and his poor health, but now he’s big and tall and just another one of Bucky's friends.

“That’d be very great, Mr. Smith,” Bucky smiles gratefully. He has a thought of meeting this universe's version of himself, and he hopes it won’t happen. “Would it be possible to also use your first aid kit? I cut myself and would like to take care of it.” He shows him his flesh hand that harbors multiple cuts he’s barely noticed receiving during their previous fight. Mr. Smith sees them and reaches under the counter. The aid kit is old and lacking most of its original items, but Bucky will take whatever he can.

“There you go, son. This better be clean when you get back.”

Bucky dips his head, overwhelmed for an instant and unused to receiving kindness from strangers, as grumpy as the man is trying to make himself sound. “It will be, sir.”

Lucky for them, the bathroom is empty, but Bucky still locks the door for good measure. Steve removes his coat and lifts up his blue sweatshirt soaked with blood. He leans against the sink when Bucky grabs some tissues and wets them to start cleaning the wound at his side.

Steve is abnormally silent, for once not complaining about being fussed over, and he seems pensive when Bucky glances up at him.

“I remember his son died during the war. Maybe he hasn’t already, but if this universe is the same, then it’s just a matter of time,” Bucky comments to distract him.

Steve grunts. “I remember reading his name. He was 19, right?”

“I think so. That’s no age to die in war,” Bucky responds, somber. It’s difficult to properly clean the wound with the soaked, crumbling tissue, but he removes enough blood to see properly. The wound has already started to close up, the skin around red and irritated with a thick scab. Bucky will have to open it again to remove the bullet, then stop the bleeding and bandage the wound. Normally stitches would be needed, but Steve heals so fast it shouldn’t be a problem. This is going to be painful. His worry must show on his face, because Steve shifts to take a look for himself. He sighs in resignation, then opens the first aid kit.

They’re lucky. Among the items, the adhesive plaster tin has been opened, but there’s enough left. There are also a few patches of gauze, scissors and tweezers.

Bucky takes out his smallest knife, the one in his right boot, and retrieves some more toilet paper. Steve has opened the gauze and is cutting the plaster, his fingers sure despite his pale face. He places everything on the sink in preparation.

“I did this before, it’ll be fine,” Bucky tries to reassure him. Judging by his expression, it doesn’t.

“I’d rather not think of you removing bullets from your own body.” With that he leans against the sink and bites on the edge of his sweatshirt.

Bucky doesn’t mind removing bullets from his own body, in fact he’d rather do it to himself than to Steve, but that’s where they’re at. He goes on his knees in front of him, not willing to think of another situation where they’d be in that position. He pulls the skin tight, then pierces the wound back open.

Steve inhales sharply and digs his fingers in Bucky’s human shoulder, but he stays still otherwise. Bucky grabs the tweezers and slowly inserts them inside, glad that the both of them are immune to bacteria. He focuses on finding the bullet, careful not to dig the pointy ends too far. Blood is pouring out, dribbling down, and Bucky absently sweeps it off with his fingers before it soaks Steve’s pants. He finally meets a metallic object, and he knows this is the most painful part.

“Take a deep breath,“ he warns Steve, before he pinches the bullet with the tweezers and pulls. Steve's painful groan is muffled by his shirt as the bullet comes out with a new wave of blood. Bucky throws the tweezers and bullet in the sink and presses the toilet paper tight against the wound.

“There, there, it’s over. Hold this.” Bucky takes Steve's hand and puts it against the paper. “Keep a good amount of pressure on it.”

“I’ve dealt with bullet wounds before,” Steve vaguely protests. His lips are red and spit slick, two blotches of scarlet on his cheeks.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t take care of it for ya.” He washes his hands and the tweezers, throws away the bullet, and cleans the cuts on his hand while he’s at it, then puts a band-aid on the biggest one.

“I could’ve done that for you,” Steve says. Bucky takes some more toilet paper and pries Steve's hand away to clean away the blood. The wound is still bleeding a bit, but it should be fine.

“I think you’ve done enough for me already.”

He places the gauze and secures it in place with the adhesive. He’s so focused that he startles when Steve places his large hand on the side of his neck.

“That’s not how this works, Bucky.”

Bucky knows. He knows that friendship doesn’t work on balancing out favours, that it shouldn’t matter because they’re best friends, but Bucky can’t silence his own guilt. Not after he’s discovered Steve had wanted to retreat to the forest and Bucky has pulled that dream from his grasp. He knows it’s really his fault, and the guilt remains.

Bucky pats his hand and steps back. “All done. It would probably need a few stitches for a normal human, but you should be fine.”

“I will be.” It’s clear there’s more that Steve wants to say, but he hesitates and stops himself. They tidy the area and the first aid kit, making sure there's no blood residue. Bucky looks at himself in the mirror for the first time, and he’s at a loss from what he sees. His eyes are hollow, his beard would need some tidying up, and his mouth is set in a tight line. He forces himself to relax, to loosen his fists. His gaze catches Steve's above his shoulder through the mirror, and he breathes better.

They return to the bar in the main room. Bucky gives back the first aid kit and makes sure to show the bartender his patched up hand.

“Attaboy. Now go sit with your friend and I’ll bring you your regular.”

Bucky flashes him a smile, thankful, and joins Steve, who’s sitting at a table. He’s leaning more on one side, trying not to put pressure on his wound.

“Is it okay?” he inquires, because there’s no point asking how he feels. He knows the answer to that one.

“It burns, which means it’s healing.”

“That’s good.”

Mr. Smith brings them a pint of dark amber beer of his own brewing. It tastes just as he remembers it: bitter piss.

“I think I’ve been spoiled by the future,” Steve mumbles after he takes his first sip, his face not recovered from a grimace. Bucky smiles in his glass. They still drink, only to not disappoint their host.

“So, you think you’ll be ready soon to try and bring us back?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, now that nobody's trying to kill us.”

“Yet.” Steve scowls at him, probably about to reproach him for being a pessimist and calling bad fortune on them – not that Bucky needs to call it out for it to find them – but the bar's door opens and Bucky's expression cuts him short.

Bucky has his back against the wall so he could have a view of the whole room, including the exit. Steve is on the opposite side, so he can’t see who just entered.

There’s no one else with such silly facial hair, he thinks, as Tony Stark enters the bar. It’s easy to see it’s not the Tony from their universe. This one looks grimmer, older, life weighing down on his posture. Maybe an injury that never properly healed? His appearance is still groomed however, his dark hair styled in this decade's fashion, and he’s wearing a burgundy three-piece suit with a long thick coat, a scarf wrapped around his neck.

“Mr. Stark,” the bartender greets him like a regular, which is interesting. What is Stark doing in the middle of Brooklyn?

“Good day, Harry. The usual, please.” Tony unwraps his scarf. He slides a bill on the counter and gulps down his drink. It’s been a tough night, apparently.

Steve looks behind his shoulder just as Tony is looking his way. He freezes, the colours draining from his face. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Steve?” he asks, unsure and bewildered.

Fuck. Steve mouths _what do I do?_ at Bucky, who looks back at him with panicked eyes. Tony's striding towards their table, and Steve gets on his feet just as he stops beside him.

“I- I’m not sure—” he starts, but then Tony is hugging him fiercely before he can think of anything.

“It’s really you,” Tony mumbles against his chest. He’s clinging to Steve, like he’s a mirage who could disappear at any moment, like there’s nothing else but him that matters, like… a lost lover. Bucky had seen enough lovers’ embraces during the war.

He watches Steve return the hug carefully, wrapping his arms around Tony like he doesn’t want to break him. He’s frowning, probably asking himself what happened for Tony to act this way, and Bucky already knows his protective side has kicked in.

“Tony…” he murmurs, lost. The other patrons are starting to get curious, so Steve gently takes him by the shoulders to step back. “Let’s sit down, alright?”

“Sure, sure.” And he takes the chair closest to Steve, their knees almost touching, Bucky notes. The man's attention is solely focused on Steve, and he suddenly has the vision of another dark-haired person in a red dress, from what seems like lifetimes ago.

“How can you be here? How did you even survive the explosion?” He asks Steve, who’s about to make up a lie, when Bucky clears his throat in slight irritation. He knows Steve’s impressive, but damn.

It brings Tony’s attention on him. “I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Tony Stark.” They shake hands over the table.

“James Barnes.”

Just as quickly, he turns back to Steve. “Explain to me, now. Why didn’t you come back to me?” he asks, his voice breaking at the end. It doesn’t help that Steve squeezes his arm in comfort. He’s looking at him with those big puppy eyes, the ones even Bucky can’t resist.

“I’m not your Steve, Tony.”

“What—What do you mean?” Tony stares up at Steve, searching for an ounce of truth, and the moment he puts things together is heartbreaking. His face falls, the little hope that has sparkled in him now dull, lost. He swallows a few times, looking down at the table, and Bucky has to avert his eyes, away from his pain.

Steve, of course, doesn’t. He leans closer, his expression sad. “I’m so sorry, Tony.”

“Then who are you?” Tony’s voice is harsh, anger overtaking him. Anger is easier to deal with than grief. “Why do you know me?”

“It’s complicated,” Bucky starts, but he’s talking to Tony Stark. Whatever he is in this universe, he remains a genius, so he decides to go with the truth. “We’re from a different universe.”

His reaction is not what he expects, not that Bucky has expected anything. He blinks, opens his mouth a few times and shifts his attention between Steve and Bucky. “The Multiverse theory. I’m listening,” he finally says.

It isn’t an easy situation to explain, but they do their best to fill Tony in on what they know about the multiverse. Through their explanation, they learn that Tony is a private detective, but the way he says it, Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if he’s built an archaic version of the Iron Man suit already.

In the end, it’s Tony who finishes both of their beers, which Bucky is thankful for. "Listen, why don't you come back to my mansion, spend the night there to give Steve some time to recover, and we can talk some more. There's too many prying ears here."

Bucky nods at Steve. He doesn't think Tony is posing any threat.

"Thank you," Steve tells him, and Tony gestures at them that it's nothing. Bucky salutes Mr. Smith on their way out.

"You come back soon, boy."

Bucky can't bring himself to lie, so he simply smiles, knowing full well he won't. Outside they climb in a car luxurious for the period, slick and, of course, bright red. He climbs into the back and lets their conversation wash away as he observes Brooklyn roll in front of his eyes. It's exactly the same as he remembers it.

Tony takes the Brooklyn Bridge, then drives through Manhattan like the devil's chasing them. Bucky can't bring himself to care, as a wave of exhaustion begins to creep on him. Is multiverse jet lag a thing?

They arrive at the Stark Mansion. It's a large and tall Victorian building, at first glance very ordinary, but then again, Strange’s _Sanctum Sanctorum_ looks normal too, and the rooms move on their own free will.

A Butler greets them at the entrance. "I didn't know you were bringing back guests, sir."

“I didn't either, Jarvis. Would you prepare two bedrooms for them, while I bring our two gentlemen in the kitchen?"

"At once, sir."

The butler takes the massive stairs leading to the second floor while Tony leads them to the kitchen. It's quite late already, but a woman is baking something that smells delicious.

"Are you hungry?" Tony glances at Steve before chuckling to himself. "Of course you're hungry. Ana, could you fix these two gentlemen a late dinner please?"

"Of course sir."

They sit at the counter island. Tony retrieves a pack of cigarettes from one of the pockets of his coat draped at the back of his chair. He takes one and lights it up. Soon the air smells like Bucky’s childhood; wood and tobacco and warm bread. The meal placed in front of him is nothing he’s ever had as a child, however. He realizes how hungry he is at the sight, decades of not taking care of his needs forgotten. He dives in. If it’s poisoned, he’ll die a sated man.

Bucky doesn't dare break the silence while they inhale their food, but he doesn't have to. Steve pushes his empty plate away more quickly than Bucky. "Thank you, it was delicious."

"Ana is the best cook in New York, or so I say. Now, would you like to explain how you can be from another universe?"

Bucky lets Steve speak for the both of them, observing Tony take in everything smoothly. He's made of iron, that's for sure, for he only inhales deeply once Steve is done.

He puts his hands flat on the table. They're worn out, with callouses and scars inherited from years of manual work. What kind of machines would Tony invent with the 30s resources? Probably stuff Bucky can't even start to imagine.

"So you're trying to find your way back to your home universe, but you don't know how to use this Dr. Strange's powers that creates portals?"

"Pretty much."

"And what's your power, broody?" Tony asks Bucky, who has started to lose interest in the conversation, truth be told. He’d started daydreaming.

"I can influence objects and minds, to put it simply," he says, not wanting to mention psionic energy, in fear it hasn't been discovered at that time. He raises his hand and focuses on his magic to manifest it. Red tendrils swim towards the plate and make it levitate, earning a choked sound from Tony. Putting it down gently is actually harder than just letting it go, but he's a guest, and he'd rather not break dishes.  
  
"Okay, that's creepy. Is yours red too?" Tony asks Steve.  
  
"No, it's golden for the most part." A golden power stretches out in his palm, calmer than Bucky's.

"Is it some sort of electricity?"

"No, it’s mystical energy. It’s complicated.”

Tony hums, assessing. "We actually found a magical trident too before, well my Steve and I, powered with an orichalcum. Really pretty, but it made an airship explode when I tried to use it."

And so Tony shares his own story, trying to use a light-hearted tone when really, he still looks heartbroken to Bucky. Bucky had almost lost everything, but at least he once again found the most important person in his life, so he can't imagine how he would feel if he lost Steve.

He’s right, Tony does have an iron suit in this universe too. He uses it mostly in dangerous situations – every other week -, and when facing Nazis. Steve had taken an interest in going with him, first as a chronicler, then as his partner, and the potential danger of facing Nazis hadn’t stopped him from joining Tony, to the surprise of no one.

About six months ago they’d discovered that some Nazis were building armoured suits like Tony’s, and they had decided to destroy the airship they were using as their HQ. Their plan had succeeded, but Steve had been killed in the process.

Tony has been fighting more and more crime ever since, hence why he looks exhausted on top of his grief, and yet, as they talk for a few hours through the night, he gets more energetic as time passes, fuelled by coffee.

How bad will he fall, once Steve is ripped once again from him?

Bucky doesn't want to interrupt them, but he's getting tired, and he feels like he's intruding on their conversation, so he gets on his feet.

"I'mma head to bed, you continue to talk and all that," he mumbles, feeling like an awkward teenager who doesn’t want to bother the adults. Tony calls Jarvis so he can show him his room for the night. Steve throws him a strange look, but he bids him goodnight as he walks away.

Jarvis walks in silence with him upstairs and through the long halls, and seriously, how big is this place? Bucky doesn't understand the point of having so many unused rooms. Then again he used to live in a room and a half with Steve, just like so many other poor people in the Great Depression.

As expected, the bedroom is more luxurious than he's ever lived in, other than some nebulous missions, but he hadn't been there for the view. He thanks Jarvis and flops down on a bed that is big enough for three people. He sighs heavily, then chuckles.

Tony and Steve, huh? They probably haven't faced the same dilemmas, without Steve having his Captain America reputation for Tony to try and pick at his so-called righteousness. He's read reports of their first meeting, and yet he sees the possibilities.

There’s a huge clawfoot bathtub in the bathroom, so he takes a bath. He doesn’t remember last time he’s had that luxury. It brings the memories of all those times he would sleep in a tub, his body hidden all around, no blind angle to watch.

He sinks in the hot water, hair strands tickling his shoulders. He takes a few minutes to relax before grabbing the soap bar to wash himself. It smells of rose and something musky; he likes it. The fancy shampoo smells nice too, probably costing more than what Bucky would be willing to pay for even in the 21st century.

He can't remember the last time he's been this relaxed, oddly enough. He gets out before he falls asleep. He dries himself and twists his hair up in another towel. He uses the bathtub to wash his clothes to the best of his abilities, used to it from his days on the run. It feels like a lifetime ago. He then drapes them wherever he can and pads back to his room, naked except for the towel on his head.

He leaves it on while he cleans and inspects his knives. They're still sharp. Two of them are made of vibranium, a parting gift from T'Challa, because the arm hadn’t been enough apparently. The blades never dull and are resistant to almost any surface. He puts one on his bedside table, close to him, but still slides the other under his pillow, just in case.

Jarvis has left him some sleeping clothes that are very soft to the touch and feel exquisite against his skin. There are even thick socks. He puts away the towel, turns off the lights and climbs in bed.

The mattress is too soft. He feels like he's floating on a marshmallow. The strangeness of the situation hits him, and he closes his eyes to not panic, breathing deeply in and out. In and out.

He’s fine, Steve’s fine. They will find a way home.

He listens, but there's no sound around him. Silence but for his own heartbeat and breaths. He starts to count to seven, holds his breath up to six, then exhales at another seven. He continues that breathing exercise until sleep comes to him.

He wakes up after what feels like minutes to the door to his bedroom creaking open. It’s barely audible, but he hears it. Half-asleep, his instincts take over. His back is to the door, and he doesn’t move, his hand grabbing the knife under his pillow. Socked feet approach the bed, almost silent. He waits for the perfect moment, then rolls over and grabs the person when they’re close enough. He pulls and twists his hips so he straddles them when they fall on the bed. His blade is raised, his metal fingers tightening on their neck…

“Bucky, it’s me.” Steve’s face is flustered, his feet planted on the bed and ready to throw him off, but he doesn’t. His hands are raised in a peaceful gesture.

Bucky lets out a breath. "I could've killed you."

"I doubt you could.” Slowly, Steve wraps his hand around Bucky's, the one that holds the knife, and Bucky doesn't resist the gentle pull. The knife is put on the bedside table with the other.

"You couldn't sleep," Bucky states, not moving from his lap. He can feel his fast heartbeat, his thumb against his carotid. He suppresses a shiver when Steve shifts his hips, broad and warm and not letting go of him.

"I woke up and didn't know where I was, where you were,” he confesses with a low voice, his gaze downcast.

Bucky looks down at Steve in silence, his enhanced vision allowing him to see the mix of emotions on his handsome face; anguish, sadness, fear.

"Alright," he finally says. He rolls away to return under the comfort of the still warm covers, and flips open the other side. "Come on."

Steve joins him. He's wearing the same pyjamas, only his are almost too small for him, the material tight around his chest and shoulders.

Steve lays carefully on his uninjured side, and shuffles close enough to lay his head on Bucky’s shoulder. "Is this okay?" he softly asks, going as far as letting his fingers rest against his collarbone, his palm above his heart.

"It's okay." One of his arms is under Steve's weight, and in this position his shoulder is too far away, so he rests his hand in the curve of his neck. Steve looks up at him, his smile small and soft. There's a stray strand of hair on his forehead, and Bucky pushes it away, stroking his hair a few more times just because he can. "Feeling better now?"

Steve nods. "Much better. Thank you."

"You always were a cuddler." He remembers those nights in a tent in the middle of a war zone, after he'd been rescued from Zola's hands, Steve slipping into his bedroll and wrapping himself around him like a big teddy bear, only falling asleep with the reassurance he was still alive.

Much like right now. "Is this universe weirding you out just as much as it’s weirding me out?" he asks, staring at the ceiling.

"Mmhm. So familiar, yet different. I can’t believe Tony and this place’s Steve were lovers.” He adjusts himself, presses his thigh against his, and oh. It’s very nice.

He swallows, looks up at the ceiling. “Well, as much as you have your differences, you’re both attractive, good people.”

“He told me that he met his Steve in that bar in Brooklyn. He continues going there because it reminds Tony of him, and as much as it opens again the pain of his loss, it brings the good memories too.” He sighs, and it tickles Bucky’s ear. “It doesn’t bother you? That I’m attracted to men?”

“Of course not. You don’t choose who you love. I’m…” He wants to confess he hasn’t looked at people in a sexual way in decades, that he hasn’t felt close to anyone long enough to develop any interest in them, except for one person. But he doesn’t, because he’s a coward and doesn’t want to lose whatever it is he has with Steve. “People choose to call themselves queers now,” he jokes instead. “They reclaimed a pejorative label and created a community based on it instead. Maybe I should start a Winter Soldiers Facebook group or somethin’.”

Steve pats his neck. “Just go to sleep.”

Bucky does that, surprisingly easily. He doesn’t dream.

He knows something's wrong as soon as he wakes up. Steve is still in his arms, his hair brushing Bucky's neck. The thing is he doesn't feel the bed underneath him. When he opens his eyes, he's scared to even breathe.

"Steve," he mumbles, then repeats his name louder. He pokes his side until Steve stirs.

"What?" He shifts, his hand creeping into Bucky's hair, his thumb stroking his temple, and the situation would feel a lot more intimate under other circumstances.

"I know it's not me, so I think you're making us levitate."

They somehow still have a blanket on them, but other than that, they're floating a few feet above the bed. Steve yelps, and they start falling, but both Bucky and Steve try to cushion their fall with their magic. It results in them bouncing back into the ceiling, like the bed is a trampoline. Bucky tightens his arms around Steve and envelops them with his magic, creating a protective bubble around them. He stabilizes them, and Steve brings them back to the floor.

They stare at each other, the adrenaline rush draining from them, and when Steve starts laughing, Bucky can't help but follow him. Becoming a bouncing ball so soon in the morning is definitely not his favourite way to wake up.

That's how Jarvis finds them.

"Good morning gentlemen. You've made quite a ruckus." It doesn't help that Steve _giggles_ at that. He doesn't want to think about what the butler must think of them. Bucky gets to his feet.

“We had a magical incident,” he feels the need to explain. At least they're full clothed.

Judging by his expression, Jarvis isn't buying it. "Breakfast will soon be served, if you're done with your _magical incidents_."

"Thank you, Jarvis," Steve says, untangling himself from the sheets. He stretches, raising his arms and getting to the tips of his toes. Jarvis is closing the door when there's a distinctive fabric tear sound, and Steve freezes. He slowly puts down his arms, and there's a tear in the shoulder seam.

"This happens way too often," Steve says.

Bucky hides his laugh behind a cough while he retrieves his clothes, fortunately dry.

“I can't believe we both can fly now. Next one of us will shoot lasers out of our eyes.”

“I bet it'll be you. Your magic’s red, after all.”

 “Whatever. Let me see your bullet wound.”

Steve lifts his shirt and rips the bandage. There's nothing but pink skin. That little shit.

He returns to his room to change after that, giving Bucky a few minutes to breathe. He puts his clothes back on. Blood stains are hard to get rid of, he doubts his pants will ever be the same again, but his thick polyester shirt is rather fine other than a few minor holes. He finds a brush in one of the drawers of the bathroom and manages to tame his hair. He judges it okay enough to not tie it.

He’s the last one to arrive to the dining room, mainly because he gets lost a few times and catches himself staring at objects that make him feel nostalgic.

They eat mostly in silence, Tony visibly sad about their departure, and yet he’s taking advantage of his last moments with Steve. Bucky understands that, but it still makes for awkward goodbyes.

“Take care of yourself, Tony,” Steve tells him. They hug each other goodbye, Tony unusually reserved. Then Bucky shakes Tony's hand and he gets a weird thought.

“Hire Pepper Potts, for your own good.”

Tony frowns. “I was just looking at her application. How did you...?”

Bucky shrugs. “Magic.”

Steve puts on the ring and opens the portal. The sight on the other side is vibrant, inviting, just like the previous world had been. Hopefully there are no robot soldiers who want to kill them this time.

Tony's awed gasp accompanies them through.

 

 

Every time they step from one universe to another, there's always this gap, a few seconds where there's nothing – no sound, no light, not even Bucky’s own breath – before a new world crashes around him like a heavy curtain.

He knows right away this new universe is an odd one. To start with, he stumbles into it face down. The ground isn’t even sharp but it still hurts a lot. He groans. He doesn’t think his nose is broken, but it’s throbbing painfully.

"Steve?"

"I'm here." Strong hands help him to his feet, and he gets his first view of this world. The sky is a deep blue and the sun is bright, almost too bright; it makes the colours so vibrant, his eyes need a moment to adjust.

The ground below him is uneven because it’s not actual ground, but crystals. They’re standing on a huge mound of clear crystals, creating distorted shades of lilac, pink and blue that peek through. The crystals must be about a hundred meters deep, and underneath, the sky again.

“What the actual fuck?” Bucky breathes out, his knees wobbling, before gasping in distress. There’s no ground below his feet and he’s free falling from the train. The wind is whipping his face, the weight of his arm bringing him down faster. He’s going to crash into the river below.

“Bucky.” Steve pulls him away, towards safety, and Bucky clings to him, hides his face in the crook of his neck. He can’t breathe, there’s no oxygen in this universe and they’re both going to die from asphyxiation.

Steve forces him to look up at him, cradling his face in his big warm hands. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re fine, we’re okay, we’re fine. Follow my breathing, Buck. In, out. In, out. That’s it, breathe deep.”

Bucky listens to his voice, watches his eyes. They’re very blue and full of reassurance. Steve’s never judged him for becoming the Winter Soldier and killing all those people, he’s always considered him like the best friend who he lost and found again. Steve’s fought so hard to help him, and now they’re in this together. He’s not alone anymore.

It’s not about about who’s protecting who anymore. Both of them are protecting each other. They’re going to be fine.

He realizes how hard he’s gripping Steve’s arms and releases him, somewhat calmed down. Steve’s quiet sigh of relief brushes against his lips, and Bucky unconsciously licks them at the tickling sensation.

“I’m sorry—” he starts, but Steve makes an annoyed sound.

“No, no, nothing to be sorry for. I… I don’t think I can look down either.”

Bucky risks a glance around to assess where they are exactly: he can see a blur of green on the other side of that crystal mountain, which reassures him. This place is not see-through all the way around.

“Then let’s fly, and when we’re on safe ground, you open a portal so we can get the fuck out of here. I’m even ready to have a stay in that falling ash universe again.”

Steve nods. “Let’s do it then.”

Bucky is used to having a connection with his magic by now, and he pushes the energy underneath him upwards to levitate him with an ease that makes him grin despite everything.

"I think the gravity might be different here. It feels much harder to use magic, like something's pulling me towards the ground," Steve complains behind him.

"Who knows, this place is weird," Bucky says. He takes Steve's hand and helps him glide in the sky. He's happy when they reach the grass on the other side of the mountain. It's a valley, and beyond, he can see a river running across the side of another mountain, this one normal-looking. Is it him or is the water pink?

"Buck, look down," Steve urges him, pulls him to one side. There's a big head peering up at them, the eyes huge and old, and Bucky is so startled, he loses control of his magic for a second. He plummets down, but the huge beast shifts and instead he's sliding down its neck. It's a long, long neck.

The skin is too thick for him to grab unto, and no way is he going to use a knife, so he gathers his magic instead to slow himself. 

What he's accounted for a valley and trees is so far wrong he wonders if the universe isn't playing with his mind. Those aren't just trees, but huge animals with long necks lingering around, munching leaves and mingling together.

"Dinosaurs," he breathes out. "I'm on a dinosaur's back."

"A brachiosaurus, to be more precise." Steve lands beside him, stable on his feet despite the huge animal moving to reach another leaf on the equally massive tree.

"Shut up, Stevie. I can't believe a dinosaur saved me."

"We're lucky it's the herbivores."

Bucky retrieves his phone to take a few photos after he’s not surprised to see there’s no reception, even a selfie with Steve who rolls his eyes but indulges him and smiles for the camera. The dinosaurs look nothing like he imagined, and photos of living ones are priceless. He's quick to turn off the device after, not willing to waste more battery than necessary.

“Mountain of crystals, a flat planet, dinosaurs, which universe are we in?" Steve ponders.

"I’m ready to go and never find out."

Steve repeats the usual steps, gold sparkling around his hands, but no door opens despite his best efforts.

"Maybe we need to be on the ground?" Bucky suggests, keeping his stance out of sheer will. He doesn’t want to look down.

"I don't think so. I can bring the magic to me, but the portal won’t manifest itself. Something is blocking it. It means there's sorceresses present in this universe who did that."

"Then let’s find them." Bucky rises in the sky again, taking altitude to get a better view. There is a lot to see.

"There's a river over there. It's pink." Steve joins him, bringing a hand to his forehead because the sun is much stronger than in their universe, or any universe they've encountered so far.

"Maybe it's melted cotton candy."

"I think it’s Pepto-bismol."

"Liquid bubble gum?"

"Let's see for ourselves," Steve smirks, and flies forward, Bucky right behind him. It's a bit chilly this high up in the sky, but it could be worse. It could be raining ash.

He also notices they're on a floating island, but somehow there's a floating pool of water right next to that island? He dares not think about what kind of dinosaurs are swimming in that lake, instead focusing on the more inviting river. He doesn’t mind pink, to be honest. Pink is soft.

He also likes the wind in his hair as he’s propelled faster by an air current, Steve grinning when he turns to him, and then Bucky has to tell him to look forward if he doesn’t want to hit a dinosaur. They dive under these huge brachiosauruses, their long tails hard to dodge if they get too close. There are also other dinosaurs that suspiciously look like giraffes and kangaroos.

They have to stay away from some of those dino-birds – “pterodactyls,” Steve excitedly recognizes them - after one of them tries to eat Steve, even though the memory of him punching the giant bird away will probably make him giggle for the remaining of his life.

_Imagine being eaten alive by a dinosaur in another universe. Buck better make that my epitaph._

“I won’t let dinosaurs touch you, don’t worry. Your epitaph will be much more boring.”

“What?”

“You just said you want me to make an epitaph about—” They land beside the pink river, and Steve interrupts him with a shake of his head.

“I didn’t say it, I just thought about it,” Steve says with a mix of surprise and awe. "Wanda can read minds, but she's never really used that ability around us, after the first time..."

"Huh. I was sure you said that out loud."

Steve grins. "What am I thinking right now?"

Bucky wants to say he won't invade the privacy of his mind, knowing too well how uncomfortable it can be, but Steve doesn't seem scared by his newfound power; on the contrary he looks at Bucky with an open expression, stance relaxed and feet pointing at him. The only sign of nervousness could be the hand on his hip, but Bucky has seen him in this position enough times to know it helps him anchor himself.

His observation done, Bucky takes a deep breath, the sweet aroma of the river making him hungrier. He stares up in those blue eyes and sends his magic in, just the tiniest bit and careful not to be too invasive.

The inside of someone's mind isn't a peaceful place, it's more like multiple ongoing concerts, with layers upon layers of information coming and going faster than one can blink. Bucky can see the number "45" float at the very front of that room, big and bright, but if he delves in, there's so much more. He just needs to reach out and take what he wants.

Hyperthymesia. Shockingly detailed memories of missions, endless days sick in bed, the living room in the Avengers tower, the golden brown shade of Peggy's curls in the sunlight, the design in his latte foam of the coffee shop he likes to go sometimes, Bucky. Bucky, Bucky. Short hair, long hair, human arm, metal arm. He's smiling, laughing, eyes red from crying, leaning towards him for a hug, voice broken from despair. Resilient in the face of Death. _Don't take him away from me, not again._

No. He doesn't want to see himself through Steve. It hurts too much, because he's not that person anymore. How could he be?

"It's just a number, Buck."

Bucky blinks, his mouth dry. He swallows, calms down the moving gears of his metal arm. He forces a small smile, just to not make Steve worry about what he might've seen in his head.

"45. The year the Second World War ended. Also the year we all— Watch out!"

He pushes Steve out of the way just as a monster sweeps its giant tail their way. His prosthetic takes most of the hit, luckily, but the impact makes him eat the grass. It's not a tail, he realizes, but a tentacle. The monster that has emerged from the river is nothing like Bucky's ever seen, and he would've been happy never to see it either. He doesn't know if it's supposed to be a squid or a shark, but it's green, has tentacles and wants to make a snack out of them.

"What the fuck is this thing?" Steve exclaims, blocking another hit from one of its viscous extremities. It leaves mucus-like residue on his shields. Good thing they're attached to his arms so he can't lose them.

"Don't know, don't want to know. It stays near the river though, so maybe if we back off, it'll leave us alone."

They start to do that but it grabs unto one of Bucky's legs and starts jerking him around. Bucky hits the tentacle with his metal arm, but it tightens its hold to the point where his ribs start protesting. He screams from the pain and in frustration. His knives are trapped in his coat, he can't reach for them.

Steve jumps away from an incoming attack and makes his way to the monster's head, using all his strength to punch it, his fists glowing golden, and Bucky is finally released. He falls to the ground and stays there to take large gulps of air, his whole body in pain. He can hear the wet sounds Steve's punches make, the gurgling the monster is making as it dies.

Steve's face appears in his peripheral. "You okay?"

"Breathing, thanks to you."

Bucky slowly gets back to his feet. Behind Steve, the monster lays on its side, deep green blood mixing in with the grass and staining the river.

"Can I see?" Steve asks, lingering near, waiting for Bucky's nod to lift his shirt and assess the damage. His fingers barely touch him, and it makes Bucky all the more sensitive to the attention. Then he places his whole hand on the left side of his rib cage, his thumb brushing against his sternum. Bucky has discovered a new form of torture, it seems, with the way Steve's huge body is leaning before him, his head so close.  "Not broken, at least. They’ll ache for a few hours."

"That’s manageable."

"You alright otherwise?" He really shouldn't look at him like that, hair askew and face still flushed from their fight. Bucky wonders if his stubble would leave burn marks against his skin.

"Tired of having near death experiences, is all. I hope it doesn't have any friends nearby.”

Bucky approaches the river and leans down to dip his metal fingers in it. His sensors don't identify any sort of poisonous substances; in fact it indicates it has almost a true neutral pH. He knows it’s not the most sanitary thing, but he’s too thirsty to care. He cups some in his palms and drinks.

"This doesn't taste like anything; I'm disappointed," Steve comments, crouched beside him. The water dripping down his neck and into his collar is a very faint pink.

"I don't think it's a good idea to drink from a river inhabited by such ugly creatures."

"True." Steve shrugs. "We never were the smartest people."

"Speak for yourself, punk. I'm not the one who accepted being the guinea pig to a secret government experiment. "

Bucky keeps a magical barrier around them as they rest when more pterodactyls approach to investigate them. They go away when they realize there's no snack for them here, and the two soldiers get a break. Flying is more exhausting than it might appear, especially for two new magic users.

They plan to follow the river with the notion that settlements usually form near water sources, no matter the location.

The dead monster nearby keeps looking at them with unseeing small beady eyes, creeping the shit out of Bucky. He refuses to touch it though; he’s had enough contact with slimy things for the day.

The flapping of wings is almost familiar now, so he doesn’t pay attention, doesn’t realize the rhythm is much different. It’s Steve’s small gasp that puts him on the defensive even before he turns around.

It’s not a pterodactyl. It’s much bigger, the head narrow and ending with a pointy beak. Its scales are of a blue brighter than the sky, the sun shining through the thin red membrane of the wings. A dragon.

And riding on it, with a flowing green cape and a crown on her head, is a woman.

Another thing to check off his bucket list. This thing is huge, at least fifty meters long, the scales glinting with green accents as it dives down towards them. The sudden gush of air is so strong Bucky almost falls over, only Steve's frame against his back stopping him. He barely notices in his awe.

The woman lets herself fall from the beast like riding a dragon is the most boring activity, her eyes fixed on the both of them. Bucky can sense her magic prickling his mind, skeleton fingers forcing him to bare himself. He refuses, twists the link around so he can slip past her own defences. The little he glimpses at is enough to make him stumble back.

"She's not here to help," he warns Steve.

"I didn't know who had entered my domain without permission, but now I see," the woman speaks, her voice melodious despite the venom in it. "Steve Rogers and James Barnes."

She waves her hand in front of them, and something awfully sweet clings to his nostrils.

"Sleep," she orders, and he does.

 

 

He's slapped back into consciousness. He's had worse, and the pain at least does a good job of flipping his alertness right back on. His arms are tied against his back, the restraint going around his wrists, forearms and arms. If he pulls his arms down, it also pulls at his neck, pressing against his windpipe. He’s shirtless, divested of most of his knives. He hopes they haven’t found the ones in his boots.

This feels like the beginning of a porn movie he hasn't signed on for, with the telltale sounds of a crowd behind him. He glares at his handler, the same pretty dragon rider. There's something unsettling about her; he can't stare too much at her face without feeling like it's an illusion ready to be ripped off.

The restraints force his head forward, but he can feel Steve at his side without even looking, and that brings him some comfort.

"Welcome back, darling," she purrs, her long nails sharp like knives along his jawline. His cheek is throbbing, but he remains silent, instead probing forward with his magic. There's an invisible push before he can dwell too far, and she tuts.

"Pretty but far from docile. I wonder what Doom will make of you."

He doesn't ask who's Doom, because he's pretty sure it's the person sitting on the huge throne before them. At first, he thinks it's a robot, or the statue of a robot wearing a green cape and hoodie, but then it moves.

"Rogers and Barnes, from Earth-199999. I didn't expect you to wander around Weirdworld in the open. Morgan hates unwanted guests in her domain."

Morgan quirks, crosses her arms. "The last visitors aren't here anymore to testify."

 _I'm terribly terrified_ , Bucky wants to say, but he remains silent. They seem to like talking, and the more they talk, the more information they feed him. Bucky tries to send his magic to probe around as well, but whoever the woman is, she's dampening his abilities, like an invisible cage trapping his magic.

"Well, you're a lot broodier than your other selves, it is just as well. Your dark mysterious past might appeal to the audience. Tomorrow, you shall fight in the Killiseum."

"Killiseum?" Steve asks.

"Indeed, a great arena for the Battlerealm's entertainment."

"Like gladiators?"

"A modern version of that. You can have guns. Thors, bring them to their cells."

Thors? As in, more than one Thor? He jerks in his bindings, tries to see who’s forcing him to his feet, but the restraints make him stumble forward. Only the firm grip yanking his arms back prevent him from eating the floor, but it’s choking him. He flexes his neck muscles to relieve the pain, manages to breathe as he’s dragged out of the throne room.

The crowd stares openly at him, laughing and talking about him as if he’s not a living being but an object meant for nothing but their amusement. His hair is masking most of them; he can only make out the floor, and he keeps his head down. Once they’re outside the room, the person who’s been pushing him moves in front of him, and he can breathe more easily, even if the thick collar is very restrictive.

The woman pulls him by his arm along the many hallways. There’s no denying that red cape and that hammer, the golden helmet: it’s a more feminine version of Thor. Her muscles are impressive.

He also witnesses some other versions of Thor on the way to his cell. An army of Thors is not something he can defeat easily on his own, that's for sure.

The Thor assigned to him removes the restraints before pushing him in his room with a snicker and a sarcastic, "Sleep well."

It's a prison cell decorated with tapestries of other contestants, probably all dead now. There are apparently car races too in the Killiseum, Ghost Races, but more blood is spilled during gladiator-like matches, the contestants fighting to the death, unless the crowd votes otherwise.

What a load of crap. Bucky sits on a cot that probably hasn't been washed in a long while, and he doesn't want to think about the toilet on the other side of the room. He probes at the collar around his neck, cool to the touch. His mind takes him to Steve, but he can't project his magic outside of this room. Damn it. At least he still has his bionic arm.

He checks the density of the walls, can’t find any weakness in the concrete. He also notices there are two guards posted outside the reinforced door. He starts testing the ceiling, then the floor. He finds the bed has done some damage, but he doesn't know what's underneath, so he might punch himself a hole into some more trouble.

He could probably rip the door open, but then he would have to fight through the Thors and whoever else is working for Doom – an army of Hulks?! He would also have to find Steve's cell in total blindness, which could get the both of them killed.

At least he discovers he still has a knife in his boot, the thing barely noticeable in his sock. It's the smallest pocket knife he has, but it's helped him in the past. No one suspects him to be paranoid enough to have two knives in one boot.

He keeps making scenarios to get out of here, but they all fail at some point. There's too little he knows, too many risks. There's nothing he can do but wait.

He barely sleeps. He doesn't know what time it is due to the lack of windows, and they come to feed him at irregular intervals. It's a meagre meal, but it's not poisonous, so he eats everything, knowing he'll need all his strength.

At least it gives time for his ribs to heal, the bruises turning purple, then yellow and disappearing. He wishes his worry would do the same, but waiting is always the worst.

Three meals are delivered to him before the door opens to let Morgan enter. Her wicked smile makes him inwardly shiver in distaste, but he stays stoic before her.

"Are you ready to fight?" She pats his cheek, and only the threat of her magic makes him stand her touch without batting an eyelid.

"I've got nothing better to do."

She chuckles. "Oh I like you. The other Bucky is much more boring. I suppose he's lacking a life of suffering."

His arm's gears rotate and twist, betraying his anger. “You don’t know me,” he manages to say through the rage and the shame. He sounds weak even to his own ears. The Cheshire smile that stretches her face twists his insides.

She takes great pleasure putting him back in the restraint device, her fingers too close to  his shoulder scars for his comfort. They're a mix of sensitive spots and dull nerves; he doesn't like people touching him there. Except Steve, he adds as an afterthought. He doesn't mind much anything Steve does.

He takes note of where they're heading, all the possible exits. Thor guards are everywhere. Just how many universes are there? All wear the characteristic cape and hammer, but those can't all be Mjolnir, can they?

After many of what he assumes are detours meant to disorient him, they arrive at a vast tall room with long benches and a huge marble bath carved in the floor. Other prisoners are already there washing themselves, humans and non-humans. Some have bigger cybernetics than him, and is that a dinosaur being rubbed with oil? He notices most of them have a towel for modesty, but others don’t seem to mind and walk around naked.

Morgan leads him to a locker-like room on the side, unbinds him with a snap of her fingers, and promptly orders him to undress.

Bucky scowls, having enough of his privacy ripped away from him in the past. Sadly he doesn’t have the chance to see how much damage he can do to her, the guard assigned to him puts herself between the both of them, facing her.

"Contestants are allowed the privacy of the baths. You can leave now."

The timbre of her voice is so similar, even if he hasn't had the chance to talk with the god a lot before. Power emanates from her, and the look on Morgan's face is all he needs to know. If she goes against the guard's words, she will be dealt with.

"Fine. You better fight as good as your temper: I bet a lot of money on you."

Bucky's scowl deepens, but he doesn't say anything and watches her go, which is a satisfaction in itself. As much as he doesn't like her attention, he'd rather it be on him than on Steve.

Thor indicates to him where the towels are, so he quickly removes his pants and wraps a towel around his waist before returning to the main area. How is he supposed to wash himself with oil?

He sits on a bench away from the others and watches what they're doing. A man larger and bigger than Steve, with multiple scars across his chest, rubs oil all over himself and scrapes it off with a small tool, before stepping down in the bath to have a soak.

There's a vial on the bench beside him with the same tool. Bucky dribbles some oil on his fingers, smells it. It’s spicy, maybe nutmeg and ginger? It’s not bad. He's got to do this, he supposes. He rubs the liquid on his flesh arm, then his chest, and he's starting on his legs when he notices a T-Rex – he’s pretty sure that’s the only type of dinosaur with such small arms – is looking at him.

Awkward.

He finishes quickly, then starts scraping off the excess oil with the tool, wiping it on a cloth. He doesn’t want to stay here longer than he has to, not when the dinosaur keeps looking at him and other contestants are giving him glares.

Why would a dinosaur be in here anyway? They barely fit in the bath. The answer comes just as he's making his way to it, making sure his too small towel stays around his hips.

"That's enough, Devil, you've had your fun," a familiar voice says, and Bucky is startled to see Steve emerge from the door, wearing a dark leather outfit he’s never seen him wear before. He can’t say he’s displeased by it.

Their eyes meet. He might have his appearance, but there's no gentleness or kindness in his gaze. Are this universe's Bucky and him friends? He can't imagine a world where they aren't.

"Ooh, so that's why. Don’t worry about him." Steve speaks to the dinosaur like he doesn't exist, and there's an edge to his voice that makes Bucky uncomfortable. Steve looks at him like he's bet good money on him and can't allow him to lose. He's also a prisoner of this place, but he forgot his home and himself through Doom's schemes.

Throat tight, Bucky spares them another look and makes his way to the bath. It’s in marble, and the water is just at the right temperature when Bucky steps in. There are a few other contestants alongside him, but nobody bothers him. Bucky appreciates it, and vaguely feels guilty when he delves into their minds for any helpful information. Nothing he doesn’t know already, unfortunately. There’s no real goal to those fights other than the entertainment of the population, and the Ghost Races are also heavily popular. Bucky kinda wishes he could do those instead, there would be more ways for him to cheat.

As much as he tries to peer into their previous lives, who these people were before coming to the Battleworld, he can’t find anything. It’s like they didn’t exist before. Their minds have been wiped.

What’s worse are the cameras planted all over the room. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t spot them any sooner; he blames being stared down by a dinosaur. They’re well-hidden too, camouflaged through the fake wall bricks. Now he knows why there are gladiator baths: they’re just another way to be made an entertainment.

Bucky quickly washes himself, then dries himself and tells his guard he’s ready to go back in the locker room. She shakes her head.

“You’re going to fight soon, you’re to be geared up.”

Bucky scowls at her, but follows her without complaint. The armoury isn’t far off, luckily, and Bucky tries not to stare too much at the arrays of armours and weapons on display. It’s like a kid’s store for him, with pointier bits. There’s gear for every time period, going from true antique gladiator armours to clunky medieval ones and lots and lots of leather. Lots of latex too.

He’s not the only one standing in a towel, at least. Some people are even naked to try out their outfits. Bucky hates the whole thing. He feels like he’s one of those G.I Joe dolls getting dressed up for a special event, only the outfit isn’t suitable for children and the event is his death.

“James Barnes!” A tall person with orange skin and pointy ears comes at him, appraising him. Bucky thinks he recognizes them as an elf, but from where he gets that information, he can’t remember. Has the Winter Soldier taken contracts on dark elves? This one doesn’t seem to scare easily, his stare does nothing but make them smile wider.

“You’re the brooding type, I like that. You would fit right in with a trench coat and pointy teeth, but alas, there’s no theme for your fight today. My name is Jagrfelm by the way, but you can call me Jag. So, your fight will be your knives and yourself against your opponent, and that’s it. I wish we had time to prepare a little something, however, maybe some special effects…”

“He’s a prisoner, not a willing contestant,” Thor reminds them, her rumbling voice bringing them back to order.

“Of course. A pity, really. So… leather?”

Bucky nods, but they don’t wait for his confirmation before they scatter off, mumbling to themselves. He throws a look to the guard, but her helmet hides most of her face, and her stance betrays nothing. He sighs, thinks about making a run for it, but there are other guards at the door too. He’s sparred with Thor before, he doubts he can take three gods.

The outfit the elf chooses for him is not bad, there’s a lot of leather and metal involved, which he’s grown used to, and a tall collar that covers his neck, but for some reason leaves his stomach bare, like someone forgot to add half of the chest piece. That armour is more for show than real protection, he tells himself as he slips it on.

It fits but for his metal arm, which doesn’t surprise him. It’s slightly bigger than his normal one, and so he suggests ripping the sleeve off. They agree, something about the fear it’ll bring to his adversaries.

The pants are very uncomfortable, however. How is he supposed to fight with this? Bucky tries to adjust them, but they're very tight around his thighs and barely move an inch up. Gladiators die of wardrobe malfunctions, he reckons, not from their wounds.

“Perfect!” The elf indicates, before looking through weapons for him.

“I believe those are yours,” they say and give him back two of his knives. It’s not the whole set, but two are better than nothing. He nods, notices they’ve been sharpened and cleaned.

“Don’t try anything,” Thor warns him, and he glares at her. He doesn’t need to be reminded. As much as he wishes to escape from here, she’s been brainwashed just like the others and he’s almost certain she would beat him to a pulp before he could touch her anyway.

“Don’t fight, kids… At least not yet. Now, how do you feel about a submachine gun? A rifle? Or would you prefer a handgun, keep it close and personal?”

“Do all contestants get to choose their weapons?”

“Oh yeah.” They grin, completely and utterly deranged. “The more popular ones even get _grenade launchers_.”

Bucky chooses a rifle.

It doesn't feel real, even as he follows Thor to the waiting area, where he meets some other contestants. Some of them are willing to fight, but for what? Does Doom promise them money and fame, trick them for his sole amusement? He fails to understand, but then again he's only gotten a glimpse of this twisted universe, and he hopes the rest isn't weirder than this.

He sits and waits. He glowers at any contestant who dares to look his way. He reads their minds instead, analyses them for more information, but he doesn't learn much more.

Wait.

He goes back into the mind of this tall humanoid, tries to find once more a memory like he’s searching for a specific book in a library lacking directions, and he has to run a finger along the spine of every single book for the one he’s looking for... Ah, there it is. He's met the sheriff of Doom before for beating a contestant out of a battle, and that sheriff is one Stephen Strange. Bucky would recognize that facial hair anywhere.

Why is he Doom's sheriff? Well, it doesn’t really matter. What’s important is maybe he can help them. Maybe he's lost his memories like everyone else. Maybe Bucky will too, once again.

No. Can’t afford to think negatively right now. He’s got to find Steve, tell him about Dr. Strange, talk with the sorcerer. Having this new information and finally knowing a way out after all this time being in the dark, it puts his mind at ease. He can do this, he can win this fight and then set himself to complete his new objectives.

Some of the contestants are watching the ongoing fight with lewd commentary through a small window looking into the arena, but Bucky isn’t interested. He sits with his back straight and waits for his own fight. It doesn’t take much time, by the screams of the crowd. The chants go wild for a moment over the winner’s shout of victory, then grow silent as the defeated’s corpse is transported away by guards.

“Barnes, it’s your turn,” the Thor assigned to him forces him to his feet, shoves him towards the gate. “They have to announce your name first.”

Blood pulsing, he watches Doom appear on one of the big digital screens, arms spread. “Spare some energy for our next contestant. Last Eternal alive, he has never been defeated before and never fails to deliver us a brilliant performance, our dearly beloved Hyperion!” The crowd gets loud as the gate on the opposite side of the arena opens, and the man named Hyperion strolls out. He’s cocky, stirs the crowd by waving and grinning. Cockiness can easily be one’s downfall.

“Fighting him today is a newcomer, who I hope will last for a few minutes before Hyperion makes him eat the sand: The Winter Soldier!” Bucky barely registers his name being announced, the door opens and he’s pushed into the mouth of the beast. Bucky can't withstand the heat of the lights and the boos from the crowd demanding his death and their stares. They don’t want Bucky Barnes anyway, so he retracts Bucky and lets his Winter Soldier persona take control.

Let the show begin.

The Soldier strides forward, shoulders straight and gaze fixed on this Hyperion, and stops a few meters away from him. What a ridiculous costume, tight spandex leaving his arms bare and a golden cape floating in the soft breeze. His aura screams power, his own magic all but demanding to explore this person's mind. It wants to play, and so does the Soldier.

Hyperion doesn't appear to have any weapon. That makes him the weapon, turns him into a more potent treat. The Soldier assesses his form, analyzing for any clue about his abilities. He remembers fighting Captain America, what feels like so long ago, in close combat. What a thrilling experience it had been.

They stare at each other. Hyperion winks at him, cheeky and obnoxious, but the Soldier’s brows barely furrow. One of his knives is at his side, another at his back, sheathed to his belt. His submachine is strapped to his back at well.

"Let's see them fight,” Doom’s voice booms through the arena. “Who knows, perhaps today is the day Hyperion shall be defeated."

And to that Hyperion barks out a loud laugh, before he throws him a look of pure disdain. The Soldier scoffs. He squares his shoulders, takes out a knife.

"And... Fight!"

The Soldier advances on Hyperion, calculating at least five weak points he can exploit, but then Hyperion disappears, and he's kicked in the back. He stumbles, catches himself before he can fall.

Teleportation? No, it's not magic, he would sense it. He turns around, knife slashing forward, but there's no one. He's sent stumbling forward once again. Hyperion’s laugh starts at his left ear and continues behind his back. That motherfucker has some sort of super speed, circling around the Soldier and playing with him. He’s not to be toyed with for long.

His bionic arm almost silently adjusts itself, plates shifting, as he waits for Hyperion's next move, and when he turns around, he's ready. He raises his fist just as Hyperion once again runs around him, and he gets him square in the face. The arm registers that his skin and bones are denser than a normal human's, so even if he hits him in the face, his nose doesn't break. He barely acknowledges the punch; in fact, he just grins.

He’s about to talk, probably to boost his own ego, but the Soldier plunges his knife in his unprotected armpit instead, aiming for the femoral artery. Villains always talk too much.

Despite the thicker skin, his knives are made of vibranium – a departing gift from Shuri, and they always hit their target. Hyperion curses as blood streams from his injury. The Soldier puts some distance between them, retrieves his gun, because though he might be bleeding like a pig in a slaughterhouse, Hyperion remains on his feet. In fact, he removes the knife and the bleeding stops.

The crowd cheers.

"Impressive," Hyperion says, then breaks his knife in half with his bare hands. His eyes start to glow white, gathering some sort of energy. That’s not good.

His eyes shoot a laser at him, or it might be a beam. Whatever it is, Bucky raises his metal arm just in time to deflect it, then rolls away to dodge the next laser. His heart beats furiously in his ears while he evades Hyperion's attacks, but he's more focused than ever.

He only needs a few seconds of respite from his opponent to aim and shoot at his legs. It doesn't really hurt him, but he staggers, and it's enough for the Soldier. He remains crouched and focuses his magic between his hands, then pushes it underneath Hyperion and hurls him as far as he can. It's not as far as he'd like, but Hyperion still lands on the other side of the arena, head first in the sand.

The Soldier strides to Hyperion, retrieves his remaining knife, because there's no way that he's down for good.

He forgets to add in Hyperion’s super speed in his calculations, an almost fatal error. One second, he’s leaning over his body to plunge the knife in his neck, the next Hyperion is grabbing his leg and throws him away like he weighs nothing. An eye for an eye, he idly thinks. He brings up his magic before he crashes into a wall, which would’ve probably given him a concussion and knocked him out for good. Instead he finds himself staring at the material from a few precarious inches away, red tendrils embracing and protecting him. He’s very thankful for those powers right now.

He clenches his knife and flies in a wide arc to face his adversary, reluctant to remain stationary. Of course Hyperion begins flying too, just to show off. He circles around, parades really, just so the crowd cheers him louder. His ego will be his downfall.

If an artery doesn’t work, he’ll have to go directly for the head. He shoots energy blasts that Hyperion easily dodges before shooting back. Flying and shooting is harder than it looks, so the Soldier sets down and evades Hyperion again when he descends on him at full speed, his fist raised. He crashes down hard, sand flying everywhere, and the Soldier is blind for a moment. He groans and focuses to gather the flying sand together and send it around Hyperion instead, trapping him in a cocoon.

That seems to do something to him, he starts trying to break free frantically, losing all of his grace. He’s scared. The Soldier delves into his mind while he has the chance. He’s not making much sense, but he seems focused on keeping in contact with the sun.

Interesting.

Hyperion’s abilities would be related to the sun’s energy. If there’s no sun, he would be powerless. The Soldier doesn’t know how to make the sun disappear, but he can make Hyperion believe it.

He acts quickly. He strolls to Hyperion just as he drops the cocoon, and pushes his hand against his face to get in his head, much stronger this time. He finds his fear and makes it real, at least for him. No more sun, no more abilities.

Hyperion gasps, and while he believes he’s powerless, the Soldier strikes. Eyes are the mirror of the soul... And also a good weak spot for his knife.

He stabs him quickly and lets go of him, steps away as Hyperion screams and screams, presses his hands against his bleeding wound. He stumbles into the sand where he lays, his body limp.

It’s over.

There's a deafening silence. The Soldier wipes his knife on his dirty leg pant, sheathes it and retrieves the broken parts of his other one.

The crowd starts cheering and chanting his name. The Soldier looks up to the thousands of people watching, doesn't know what to make of it. These people are relieved they're not the ones fighting; instead they bet on who will win like lives are nothing but numbers on a board. It's sickening.

The Soldier watches some Thors grab Hyperion and drag him away while the one assigned to him orders him to the other side, from where he entered the arena. Somewhere between getting changed and being led to a luxurious private bathroom, he becomes Bucky again.

Bucky would be almost grateful if he wasn't exhausted. The amount of magic he's had to use was a lot more than he's ever used. Luckily there's no one bothering him on the way back to his cell, and he welcomes his thin musty mattress with a sigh.

He falls asleep that way, face buried in his pillow. He jolts awake with hair in his mouth and lazily pushes it away while listening to what has awaken him. The door of his cell.

He straightens up as a tray is pushed inside, full of food; there’s even a wine bottle beside the carafe of water. It’s a lot of food.

“The meal of the victorious,” Thor explains, setting the tray beside him. Bucky’s stomach rumbles, reminds him he hasn’t eaten anything in a long while. “All champions have a reward.”

“Can I leave instead?” Bucky asks.

“No.” Thor shoots him another look and leaves him alone, the sound of the door closing loud in the silence of his room.

“Worth a try.”

He eats almost everything. He nurses the wine afterwards, sprawled on his bed. It doesn’t really affect him, but it gives him something to do and it tastes good. His body aches from the fight, his back is probably bruised, and the burns he’s received by Hyperion’s beams are itchy as they heal. At least he still has all his hair and both of his eyes. He doubts he’s permanently damaged Hyperion, as being an Eternal probably implies he’s immortal or at least more durable than most fighters.

It takes him a few hours to fall asleep despite his drunken daze, but when he wakes up again, he has a new contestant to fight.

And so begins a few days that Bucky would rather forget. He wakes up, readies himself, fights, is given a big feast, goes to sleep, repeat. He keeps trying to find failures in the security, in the cracks of his cell, even the waiting area next to the arena, but there’s nothing. He could try and make a run for it, but he still doesn’t know where Steve is being kept and there’s no way he’s leaving without him.

He sees Strange once during those days, from afar, but he doesn’t even think about poking his mind before the Thor assigned to him shoves him to move faster. Well, at least it confirms he’s really here.

He contemplates just manipulating his guard's mind to make her escort him out of here, but it doesn't work. That collar he’s made to wear outside of combat blocks all of his magic, it evens hurts when he tries. Besides, he’s too exhausted when he gets back to his cell to try and escape. Maybe that’s Doom’s plan, to keep him occupied.

Is Steve stuck in the same situation? He hasn't seen him in the public baths, but he’s heard of him being in the gladiator fights just like him. It wouldn’t seem to be beyond Doom's sadism to make them fight against each other.

He's munching on grapes when Thor comes in and tells him she's to escort him. It's unusual because he's coming from fighting someone made entirely of rocks – his flesh hand still hurts.

He inwardly shrugs and follows her. It’s not like he has a choice. They go through a hall Bucky's never seen before, more luxurious than the rest. He checks security, cameras, the usual, but it's yet again very well guarded. Maybe if he throws himself out of a window?

His plans are interrupted by their arrival in front of a door. Thor knocks on it twice, then opens it when a muffled voice tells them to enter and shoves him inside before closing the door behind him. Uh-oh.

The suite is beautiful, meant for one of Doom’s guests and not a prisoner. He can only dread why he’s been brought here. He won’t allow becoming someone else’s plaything. He’s not controlled anymore, he still has choices despite being a prisoner. Before, they hadn’t even needed to make him a prisoner or put him in a cell to make him obey, like a puppet on strings.

His thoughts are interrupted by loud footsteps coming closer, from what he assumes is the bedroom. The walls are high, but the dinosaur still needs to crouch to step under the doorframe. It’s the same one he’s seen in the baths. It blinks at him.

“Err…”

Before he can think of something to fill the silence, Rogers appears beside the dinosaur. He calls him Rogers because that’s not his Steve. He doesn’t stand the same way, he looks older, and his hair is longer, tied back at the small of his neck. He’s not even shaved, and only a disarrayed Steve wouldn’t shave.

“James, this is Devil. Devil, James,” he says. Even the tone of his voice is different, flatter. He looks… sad wouldn’t be the exact word. Resolute, maybe? Solemn in his grief.

“Nice to meet you, Devil. Can I know why I’m here?”

Rogers smiles sadly. “You sound the same.”

“As your Bucky?”

“Yes.”

“I hope you don’t want me to replace him.”

Rogers chuckles, this time looking more alive. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You’re here because I had an interesting conversation with your Steve: he wants my help for your escape. Ever ridden in a dinosaur before, James?”

Bucky blinks. “I’m sorry, what? I thought you asked me if I’ve ever ridden _in_ a dinosaur?”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

“So not on the dinosaur, but in him? Like, _in his stomach_?”

Rogers places his hands on his hips. “In his mouth. It’s something we’ve done in the past to- It doesn’t matter, but neither of you will be hurt by the process, and I can deliver you safe and sound to your Steve.” Devil is watching in silence, his tail swinging awfully close to the nearest lamp.

Bucky observes Rogers, his rigid stance, his expression carefully devoid of emotions, the way he won’t meet his eyes. He might not know this one, but he knows his Steve well enough to figure out what he’s hiding from him. “Your Bucky died, and you don’t want me to die too,” he slowly says, watching his reaction. “Thank you.”

Rogers shrugs. “It’s fine. I also owe Strange for a few things.”

“Right. So when are we doing this?”

“Now, if you’re ready.” Rogers gives him a bag. “Here’s your gear. I remember you always cherished your knives.”

Bucky grabs it, hesitant, and goes to get changed in the bathroom, a bit numb. As much as he yearns to see Steve again, it hurts to know not every version of themselves are happy. What can he do about it anyway? He just wants to go home.

It feel good to have his knives on him. He doesn’t need them to be a weapon of massive destruction, but he likes feeling their weight, like small anchors. Small, deadly anchors. He looks at himself in the mirror once he’s done. He looks tired, skin ashy and dull from lack of sun. His eyes are sunken in, dark circles prominent. He could do with a new haircut, too, truth be told. His hair is getting too long and thick, remaining in front of his eyes despite his best attempt at pushing it back. He ties it in a half bun and calls it a day. He’s happy to retrieve his sweatshirt, which covers more than half of his chest, and his coat, even if they’ll probably only be good for burning once this is over.

“Ready when you are,” he announces when he returns in the main room. Rogers and Devil are speaking to each other in a low voice. Well, a dinosaur that speaks, he’s not even surprised at this point. They stop when they see Bucky. “So how are we doing this exactly?” He gestures at Devil. Is he really meant to go willingly in his mouth?

Apparently, yes. Rogers explains there’s enough room for him in there, that they’ve done it before, and Devil even goes so far as to nod.

“But… won’t I hurt you? Won’t I tear your mouth or something?”

“No,” Devil replies. “I have thick skin, don’t worry.”

Bucky is skeptical but keeps his doubts to himself. He decides to trust them; any Steve is worth trusting, or so he hopes. They’re his ticket out of this place.

Devil leans down and opens his mouth surprisingly wide. Ugh, it doesn’t smell good. Bucky climbs in. Two things are very apparent right away. First, it’s damp and wet and he hopes he won’t slip on his tongue because that would be just horrible for everyone involved. Second, it stinks. He remembers tyrannosauruses are carnivores, so that explains it. He curses his super sense of smell.

It gets worse when Devil closes his mouth. Bucky is glad he’s wearing his gloves when he has to hang onto his teeth for the ride, because Devil walks heavily from side to side. His skin is indeed thick, he can barely hear outside. He doesn’t know what excuse Rogers gives Thor, but apparently his earnest expression works everywhere because soon they’re walking in what he’s pretty sure is the hallway. He can only stand still and wait, breathing through his mouth because really, the smell is not getting any better.

After long minutes that feel like an eternity of moistness and misery, Devil opens his mouth. Bucky rushes outside, wiping his hands on his coat because yikes, the stench will remain until he burns his clothes.

He looks around to ask Rogers where they are, but instead he receives an armful of Steve, _his_ Steve, alive and well.

“Bucky.” Steve sounds so relieved and happy, and Bucky squeezes him tightly, forgetting about everything but him, his own body vibrant and thrumming with something he can’t put into words. Instead, he buries his face against his neck, idly noticing Steve is a sweaty mess, but he doesn’t care at that moment. He’s not much better.

“I’m here,” he repeats like a litany, his mouth brushing underneath his ear. He wants to tell him how he feels about him, how the thought of losing him troubled him more than his own death during the sleepless nights in his cell, staring at the ceiling. He’s never been confident with words, and he doesn’t know where to begin.

He disentangles himself from him but remains close enough to see the lighter speckles in his eyes, the flawless texture of his skin. He sighs and presses their foreheads together, and they share each other’s breath. Steve’s lips are a soft pink.

“They made me fight a moving rock,” he mumbles without thinking, and Steve lets out an amused chuckle.

“To measure up to your thick skull, jerk,” Steve retorts, but with such fondness that Bucky can’t help himself; he leans his chin up and kisses him. It’s meant to be chaste, a spur of the moment thing, but then Steve is grabbing his shoulders and kissing him back.

If he knew kissing his best friend would feel this good, Bucky would’ve done it a lot sooner. He closes his eyes and shifts his head to deepen the kiss, and fuck, Steve’s lips are smooth and plump, just on the right side of rough…

Someone clears their throat beside them, and they step away from one another, Bucky with regret and Steve like he wants to murder whoever has interrupted them.

It’s Strange. Wow, he looks almost exactly the same, but with his longer hair neatly trimmed, he looks like a Victorian vampire. “Sorry to interrupt, but I thought you wanted my help to go back to your reality?”

Yup, still the same arrogance. Bucky is grateful, he really is, but sometimes Strange can be a little much. Rogers is watching in silence, a mix of amusement and sadness on his face.

“Thanks for your help,” he tells him. “Couldn’t you return to your universe too?”

“My home is the Battleworld now. Don’t worry about me, James, I’ve managed until now.”

“And he has me,” Devil says, showing his teeth in a semblance of a smile.

“Just don’t give up on this one, alright? What you have, cherish it.”

“I will.” Despite Rogers’ reluctance, Bucky gives him a hug before Rogers leaves with Devil. Steve comes at him and slides an arm around his waist, under his coat.

“He didn’t want to tell me what’s happened to him,” he says, and it’s enough. Bucky doesn’t want to think about it, not right now. They’re not out of trouble yet.

“Thank you for doing this, Strange.” He wants to ask him how he got to become sheriff of this terrible place, but he doesn’t know how to make his question not sound rude.

“I talked with my other self, and he said you left with powers that aren’t yours,” Strange says.

“Are Wanda and your other self safe?” He's sure the both of them can take care of themselves, but who knows, maybe in some universe there's someone who can actually overcome Strange's arrogance.

It's Steve who nods at him, his hand stroking his hip, which is highly distracting. "We're the only two who got thrown through the multiverse."

Bucky is relieved. Something less to worry about.

“Well, it’s not like we wanted them. There was a relic that created an explosion, and then we found ourselves in a different universe with this ring,” Steve explains.

“A ring?” Strange examines it when Steve hands it to him. “It’s a Sling Ring, with older, malicious vibes. Interesting.”

“This ring is evil and you think it’s interesting? Steve used it to create the portals.”

“Probably the reason why you couldn’t find your way back, as it didn’t want you to.” Strange makes the object vanish with a gesture, then retrieves another one from his pocket. “Luckily I’m here to help. Stand behind me, if you will.”

Steve and Bucky do so, and they watch a portal appear before them, Strange manipulating his magic with ease. He enters it without a second glance at them. They follow after a beat, Bucky trying to make some sense of what he's seeing.

He doubts there's anything to make sense of, if he's honest, because he feels like they're stepping into a surrealist painting. There are golden stairs everywhere, some leading nowhere, some leading to all sorts of doors. There are also floating portals, glimpses of the universes. Most importantly, there are no floors but a colourful abyss underneath them.

"Where are we?" he asks Strange, who’s wandering in front of them.

"This is the Crossroads, a gateway through the multiverse. Now, follow me and try not to go astray."

Bucky and Steve look at each other, and Bucky resolutely links their hands together. Steve has a small smile as he looks down, then up, at his face. He tightens his hold.

They follow Strange in silence, the whole place eerie and unnaturally silent. They're between worlds, and it freaks Bucky out. The sooner they're home, the better he'll feel.

Strange seems to know where he's headed though, so that's reassuring. The stairs wave and move on their own, but he continues forward. Bucky doesn't dare to look down when that happens, because the whole place is floating in the middle of a sea of fractals and bright colours.

At some point the stairs get too narrow for both soldiers to walk side by side, so Steve takes the lead. Bucky stares at his back, the nape of his neck. It's a better view than below.

Strange finally stops in front of a door, indiscernible from the others, but Strange opens it without hesitation.

"This is where our roads separate."

Bucky wants to ask him why he’s working with Doom if he's willing to help them escape: what is he gaining in all this? One look at Steve and it's enough to realize those questions have already been asked, so he keeps his mouth shut.

"Thank you for helping us," Steve says sincerely. Strange nods at them, his expression softening.

"Try not to get lost through the multiverse again.”

Bucky nods at him in return, and they step through the door. Goodbye, crazy worlds.

 

 

They walk in a nondescript alley in the middle of the day. Bucky retrieves his cellphone while Steve looks around.

"It smells like New York," he remarks.

"Which means I smell probably just as good. Ugh, I can't believe I've been in a dinosaur's mouth…” He grimaces at how surreal and out of his mind he sounds. They walk out of the alley while he checks the reception, which he finally has, and then switches to the _Maps_ application. They're in New York. Brooklyn, to be more precise.

"Should we head back to Strange right away? Do you have his phone number?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t, but I can open a—” Steve’s cut off by his own phone ringing a famous AC/DC song, and it’s not hard to figure out who it is. After a beat, he answers.

“Hi, Tony.” They haven’t been on speaking terms outside of official business, but only because of the two men’s stubbornness. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but his enhanced hearing makes it difficult not to, and besides, he doesn’t feel like untucking himself from Steve’s side.

“Are you with Barnes?” Tony’s voice is a bit frantic, but mostly relieved. The man cares more than he’d ever admit.

“I am. We’re fine.”

“Good, that’s good. What happened? Strange came to me telling me about an explosion and you disappearing; we’ve been looking for you for days.”

“Um,” Steve looks at Bucky, smiles, “it’s a long story.”

“You’re close by, we’ll come and get you, then you can explain.”

“Thank you, Tony. We’ll wait for you.” Tony ends the call. Steve puts his phone back in his pocket and slides his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. They find themselves clinging to each other against one of the brick walls, the afternoon noises of the city surrounding them.

"M'Sorry. I must be stinky," Bucky mutters.

Steve chuckles and grazes his lips against his cheekbone in a whisper of a kiss. "Don't worry. I'm used to it."

Bucky snorts, turns his head to give him what’s meant to be a quick peck. It ends up being much more heated, with Steve's tongue coaxing his in his mouth, his hand supporting his neck. The slide of his wet, plump lips against his own is enough to make his knees wobble—that or the fact he's exhausted—but kissing him feels like he’s come home. He doesn’t want to stop.

"Hey, you okay?" gently inquires Steve, slowing their make-out to simple pecks.

Bucky happily sighs, turning so he can snuggle against Steve's taller frame. There's nobody around, and he doesn't care at this point. "I will be. Are we talking about this?"

"Mm. I guess we have to. Later, when we've both slept."

Bucky nods. "Alright. Think Strange and Wanda will want their powers back?"

"I don't know if they were swapped or shared, truth be told."

"We'll see. I’ve grown used to mine, I quite like them." He wiggles his fingers, a small red ball dancing around them, until Steve zaps it with a small bolt coming out of his index finger. They both laugh.

There’s the telltale sound of a Quinjet passes over their heads, and it appears as it lands on the empty lot nearby them. They jump over the fence and make their way as the landing pad slides down and Natasha and Tony appear.

Tony sighs in relief and strides to them. “Glad to see you both in one piece,” he says. He hesitates for a second, and hugs Steve. It reminds Bucky of the other version of him who had been in love with the supersoldier. But no, here he’s much in love with Pepper, is about to get married to her. And he doesn't hesitate to hug Bucky too, even if he’s quick to release him.

“Okay, I like you Barnes, but did you crawl in the sewers?”

Bucky lets out a laugh. “More or less.”

Natasha’s hug is tighter and longer, she hides her relief behind a quirky smirk. “You look rough around the edges, too.”

“Wait ‘til you hear the full story.”

 

 

They return to the Avengers Facility, where they have to debrief. Bucky can’t even shower or eat before they have to sit and tell their journey through the multiverse. All of the Avengers and Dr. Strange are present, listening intently. The last part of their tale gets more reactions, notably when they describe the dinosaurs and the Killiseum—“sounds like Sakaar”, Bruce comments—and mention Doctor Doom being the mastermind behind the Battleworld.

“Alright. Let’s recapitulate. First world,” Strange starts. “Ash was falling from the sky?”

“Yes, a dead world. Bucky called it _Silent Hill_.”

“The video games or the movies?” Sam asks.

“What’s the difference?” Bucky replies.

“The movies have a shit plot but Sean Bean doesn’t die, the other has better world building.”

“Movies then: the part with us walking around with no clue of where we were was shit.”

“Wait, nothing but ash?” Tony twists his mouth in a way Bucky doesn’t like. “Either a volcano was active nearby, or that ash might’ve been organic residue.”

“Yikes.” Clint grimaces, and everyone has varying degrees of a disgusted expression.

Bucky takes a look at his arm, remembers how much ash had found its way in the nooks and cracks. He lets out his breath slowly. "I'd rather not think about that." Flesh fingers slide around his metal wrist, thumb stroking the smooth surface. He doesn’t remain upset for long.

"I agree and would rather discuss the second planet,” Thor says. It’s still weird seeing him with short hair, but it definitely suits him.

"The one where nobody signed the _Accords_ and we were chased by Ross and an army of robots? Nothing much to add." Steve shrugs.

"An army of robots?" Natasha pipes up. "Because normal humans couldn't deal with the enhanced ones."

"Yeah, maybe it'd be best to look into such an army here too, just in case?" Clint suggests.

"Fri, can you start on it?"

"Sure thing, Boss. I'll keep you posted."

"At least you got to visit Australia," Tony continues. Bucky and Steve share a smile at the memory of their first night and the next morning they had spent together.

"Ooh, looks like they got to do more than sightsee." Clint extends a hand to Sam, who sighs and slaps a bill in it.

"You bet on us?" Bucky scoffs, because, seriously? "Don't you have better things to do, like smooching your little robot?"

"Redwing ain't just a robot," Sam protests. It's easy to get a reaction out of him when it involves his mechanical pet.

"I wasn't aware the Avengers’ team included a few children," Dr. Strange comments, which earns him a glare from pretty much everyone.

"... Right. Third world was interesting, to say the least," Bucky continues.

"How come only Stark was there?" Clint says.

"It's complicated, personal reasons and all that. Pretty sure you’d understand, Clint," Steve says with a meaningful look, implying he literally has kept his family hidden from the Avengers for years.

"Ugh. Whatever."

"You built an iron suit, Tony. I wish I took pictures of that," says Bucky wishfully. He's seen photos of the first version Tony had done in a cavern; it probably looked about the same, but with more gold. He wonders, would Stark have to plug it in an outlet to charge it? Oh man, now he really regrets not asking.

He's so deep in his thoughts that Steve has to gently shake his metal arm to make him focus, and he straightens his back, trying to be more alert.

"Sorry, what?"

"You took pictures?" Tony repeats, suddenly too excited for Bucky.

“The Battleworld, mostly. A few from the jungle, too.” He gets his phone and slides it in Tony's direction. A few clicks and suddenly his pictures appear on the conference room's screen. He hopes Tony won't catch his more personal pictures. Luckily, the application opens on the most recent picture, which is the pink lake with the dead creature beside it, right before they got captured by Morgan.

Everyone is captivated by the Weirdworld. Real-life dinosaurs have that effect. The science bros start discussing the geological features, arguing how a pink lake can be possible in a natural state.

Fortunately, he’s not the only one bored by their conversation.

“Honestly I don’t care if it’s liquid bubblegum or radioactive spills,” Sam intervenes. “How did Doctor Doom manage to create such a place?”

“He built a completely new planet by merging planets and people of other universes,” Steve explains. “And then he wiped everyone’s memory so they would obey and participate in his schemes.”

“This man is either a madman or a genius,” Tony says, raises his hands in surrender when it earns him glares. “I’m just saying. Anyway, we know the end of the story, other Steve hiding Buckaroo in a dinosaur’s mouth to deliver him to his prince.”

“How did you convince the other place’s Strange and Steve anyway?” Bucky asks Steve, who turns sheepish.

“Turns out, the Battleworld’s Strange didn’t want anyone to have his powers, so he felt obliged to help me. Also I gave a nice speech.”

“In your commanding voice?” Sam asks him. Steve nods. “Huh, even his own damn self can’t resist that voice.”

“And the puppy eyes,” Wanda adds with a smirk. Steve laughs with the others, but his cheeks are red. Clearly he’s relieved he doesn’t have to relate his own speech, but Bucky certainly won’t forget. Later.

“How did the other Strange end up being the sheriff there?” he asks instead.

“He created the Battleworld with Doom,” Strange himself explains. “It’s complicated.”

“I bet.” His questions answered, Bucky can feel fatigue clinging to his limbs, his head becoming heavier. He just wants a shower and some cuddling time with Steve to recuperate.

"Can we go now?" he grumbles, low enough that only Steve hears.

"Go ahead, I'll take care of it," he assures him. Bucky gives him a grateful look and extricates himself from the room without anyone mentioning it.

On zombie mode, he takes the elevator to his shared floor with Steve and goes directly in the bathroom to start the shower. He leaves his clothes in a pile, his weapons on top of them, and climbs in the large, luxurious shower stall. It has multiple sprays and even a massage setting; it's incredible. Bucky activates the different sprays and happily sighs at the water pressure. Perhaps that's a bad idea, because he's already falling asleep after a few minutes of the treatment. He changes the setting to a normal shower and starts washing his hair, humming to himself. The joy of not having to wash himself with dirty oil is real, and the reality of those fights, of the last few days, is slowly coming back to him.

It’s over, he repeats to himself, no one will force him to fight anymore, and if they get their hands on Doctor Doom in this reality, he’ll take great pleasure in picking him apart.

He's rinsing the shampoo, all different scenarios of Doom dying at his hands swirling in his mind, when the glass door slides open and Steve steps in, his glorious self bare to Bucky’s hungry eyes. But it's the way he's staring at him that stirs desire in his groin.

He lets go of his hair to pull the muscular, beautiful man to him. Steve goes along without protest; instead, he presses as much of himself against Bucky with a shudder. He leans under the spray and leaves open-mouthed kisses against the curve of his neck, his hands grabbing his ass cheeks. Bucky lets out a small whimper, turns his head to give him more access. He doesn’t care that it’s his scarred shoulder that Steve is kissing and lavishing with his mouth, he just wants more, anything that Steve is willing to give. His stubble prickles, a wonderful contrast against the plush silkiness of his lips and tongue, and Bucky buries a hand in his hair to bring him closer, until there’s no space left between them.

He rubs himself against one of Steve’s strong thighs in small thrusts, loves the rolls of Steve’s hips in return. He slides a hand between their bodies, down Steve's stomach, to wrap it around his half-hard cock. He's thick, makes Bucky's mouth water as he starts pumping him.

Steve jerks in his hold and cups his head to kiss him, moaning deliciously. Bucky has never imagined his dream becoming reality, making him gasp for more, eyes dark with pleasure and face flushed. 

He wonders if... Huh, why not try it, while he still has his magic. He continues jerking him off and focuses his powers. He knows it's working when Steve lets out a louder moan.

"Fuck!"

"Feels good?" Bucky grins.

"How are you doing this?"

"Lots of concentration, but I gotta admit, you're making it very hard..."

Steve groans, mouth opening under the pleasure of his prostate being stimulated. His hips are growing more erratic as he's fucking himself into Bucky's hand with inarticulate gasps against his ear.

"I’m gonna—"

"Yes," Bucky drags on, watches him with rapt attention as he twists his hand faster on his cock. "Come on, baby."

"Guys, sorry to interrupt," a feminine voice pipes in, and they both jerk apart in surprise. For a second Bucky thinks someone is with them in the bathroom before he realizes it's the damn AI.

"What is it?" Bucky groans in annoyance. It better be important.

"Dr. Strange is waiting in the living room."

"For fuck's sake."

Steve starts laughing, his cock still standing proud between them, hard and red at the tip. "I think we've been, what's the term again? Cockblocked? Yup, cockblocked by the doctor."

Bucky is tempted to ignore the reason for Strange's presence and to finish Steve with his mouth, to take his cock deep in his mouth until he's gagging on it, but Steve begins to lather his hands with shower gel and wash Bucky and okay, that's nice too.

"Tell Strange we'll be there in about five," Steve tells Friday. They wash each other, eyes hungry and hands lingering longer than required, but neither seem to be able to stop themselves. Steve is so gorgeous, water cascading over his muscular limbs, skin silky smooth, pectorals bouncing and nipples going hard almost instantly at Bucky’s touch. He wishes they'd have more time, but for now they have something else to do.

They leave the shower and dry themselves before going to their respective rooms to dress. Fresh clothes, finally. Bucky puts on a burgundy sweatshirt with blue jeans, then brushes his hair and leave it down while it dries. He needs a haircut, not even the expensive hair serum and leave-in treatment Natasha got for him are hiding the beginning of split ends. Ah well.

Strange and Wanda are chatting with Steve when he emerges in the kitchen. He greets them and takes a cup of coffee Steve has prepared, presses a kiss against his cheek with a small “thank you”. His heart melts at the pleased look he receives.

Wanda smiles at the display. "At least this trip made you realize your feelings for each other."

"I guess you knew all along?" Steve asks without malice. Bucky knows he's quite fond of the young woman, for how strong she remains despite everything she's lost.

"A woman doesn't kiss and tell," she winks. "Tell me, James, how have you fared with my powers?"

"Pretty well, all things considered. They were useful a few times during our journey, especially when I had to fight in the Killiseum."

"And that time you went in Fortean's head to release his greatest nightmares and stop him. I still doubt we've touched a dime of the extent of what you both can actually do."

"Being in someone else's head is weird. I don't know how you can do it so often, Wanda."

She shrugs. "You get used to it."

Strange clears his throat. "I've returned in time to retrieve the artifact before it exploded and studied it. I believe I can reverse its magical effect on the both of you."

Bucky reaches in the fridge to pour himself a glass of premade smoothie. Steve doesn't like it, but Bucky loves the stuff, so he makes sure to keep ordering them so he can drink them all by himself. Strange explains the origin of the artifact, which, to be frank, he doesn’t care about.

As much as he’s enjoyed his new abilities, he doesn’t like having to worry about creating explosions or moving things by accident. He slurps his smoothie loudly when Strange’s story becomes too long for his liking. He smiles innocently when everyone’s attention turns to him.

“Sorry. Are we doing this or what?”

Wanda hides her smile in her cup of coffee.

“Excuse his bad mood. He just spent some time in a dinosaur’s mouth,” Steve says, throwing him a look that clearly means _behave_.

“Not the comfiest ride,” Bucky mumbles.

“Let’s proceed, then. I studied the spell and it’ll be easy to undo.”

Strange prompts them to stand in the living room close to each other, which they do. Bucky feels like they’re about to cast witchcraft spells like in _The Craft_ movie. Strange is definitely Nancy.

“Focus on your magic, if you please,” Strange instructs them. Bucky clears his head as best as he can, counts his breathing, but he can almost grasp Steve’s thoughts with his bare hands, they’re that loud. He’s relieved to be free of his magical abilities, sad he hasn’t had time to explore them more, happy he’s finally home, and hornier than a teenage boy. Bucky grows warm at the multiple scenarios involving the both of them naked, limbs intertwined.

“You’re very distracting,” Wanda reprimands them, and it has a cold shower effect on Bucky.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly.

Strange makes a series of complicated hand movements, golden signs appearing in front of him. It’s already a miracle Steve has been able to make so many magic spells, considering most of Strange’s powers come from hand movements and magical artifacts.

A golden ball appears in the middle of their circle. Something is tugging in him, like an invisible vacuum draining him, and the ball grows wider. He slowly exhales at the feeling, disoriented and dizzy. He watches the sphere divide itself in two and disappear in Strange and Wanda, and then it’s gone.

There is a sense of loss, but mostly he's back in control of himself, and for that he's grateful. His shoulders relax as he sways for a second, but he straightens up almost immediately. Wanda is not so quick, but he catches her before she can hit the floor.

"You alright?" he asks her, helps her get back on her feet.

"I got overwhelmed. That was a lot of energy at once," she says, takes a deep breath.

"The spell worked," Strange states. Bucky tries to summon magic, but there's nothing of that symbiote in him anymore.

“It did.” He nods at the doctor.

Steve asks the two to stay for dinner, but they decline, each in need of some rest. It’s perfect for Bucky, who’s in need of something else anyway. Well, someone, to be precise.

Steve seems to have the same thing on his mind. Throughout their meal, they keep exchanging glances heavy with meaning. He's pretty sure Steve is wearing a simple tank top to tease him; Bucky wants nothing more than to lick the length of that pale neck and bite into it until he leaves a mark that’ll last for days.

Steve is licking his fingers clean and Bucky just can't take it anymore. He jumps on his feet and is across the table just as Steve stands too, and Bucky shoves him back on his chair to climb on his lap.

Steve makes a small sound at the additional weight, but his hands settle on his hips almost instantly. Steve gasps in Bucky's mouth and returns his avid kiss, his tongue as sweet as the rest of him. He grabs his ass and grinds into him, his thick thighs almost lifting him off with little effort, and that's so hot. It's even hotter when Steve sweeps one arm around his waist and gets to his feet without breaking their kiss, his other hand buried in his hair. Bucky hums and can't help giggling as he's transported into Steve's bedroom. Steve is grinning too, his hair messy and never looking more gorgeous, and he throws him on the bed, which makes him laugh even harder.

They start removing their clothes in a hurry, discarding them without a care, and Bucky gets a glimpse of Steve’s muscular body before he’s on top of him, pressing hungry kisses along his collarbones.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against his skin, kissing and licking a path down his chest, sliding his hands down his sides. Bucky whimpers and shivers and moans to let him know how good he makes him feel; props himself on his elbows to watch him, so intent on making him feel good. Steve looks up, keeps eye contact as he nudges one of his hips, his stubble tickling and teasing and sending a shiver of pleasure through Bucky. Steve goes on his knees to have more space so he can palm his thighs, and Bucky can't help but flex them. Steve groans what sounds like a "yes" and squeezes one last time before letting go.

He eyes his hard cock resting against his lower belly, ignored until now, not that Bucky has been complaining because holy fuck, that's Steve kneeling between his legs, his broad shoulders spreading them nicely, and everything he's doing to him is beyond amazing.

"You know we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to," Bucky gestures at his groin. If anything, he'll want to suck off Steve at the first opportunity, but he doesn't know how much experience Steve has.

"I know. I just want a taste," Steve smiles with a wicked look. He leans down and places open-mouthed kisses along the length, softly sucking the skin there before letting go, making his way to the head. Bucky can only watch, a moan stuck in his throat at the sensations, the sight. He doesn't think his cock has ever been harder, not with the way Steve is slowly taking more and more in his mouth, his tongue so soft and so good. He hums, making Bucky moan and only Steve's hands on his hips prevent him from bucking in his mouth out of reflex.

"Fuck, Steve."

Steve slurps as he retreats, his spit sliding down his balls. His flush goes down to his heaving chest, but there’s nothing bashful about him when he leans over Bucky to reach for his nightstand. Bucky just needs to lift his head to lick one of his nipples and lightly tug on it with his teeth. It perks up almost instantly.

“Bucky, you gotta stop distracting me,” Steve whines, retrieves what he’s been looking for, which is a bottle of lube. Bucky looks pointedly at the half empty contents.

“Would you believe me if I told you I dropped it one time and it spilled everywhere?”

Bucky can only guess what had occupied him enough to get distracted. “Huh,” he makes, distracting delicious images coming to mind. “I’d need a reenactment to be the judge of that.”

Steve throws his head back as he laughs, almost smacking Bucky in the process, but Bucky can’t help grinning too. He traces the spot on his side where he was injured a few days ago, now smooth, flawless skin.

Steve opens the bottle’s cap, pours some lube on his fingers and deliberately spills some on Bucky’s navel.

“That’s not where it’s needed, punk,” Bucky drawls. The star-spangled man has a plan, it seems, with the way he leans on one hand and slides the other between them and okay, he’s fingering his ass on Bucky’s lap. Bucky watches the pleasure blossom on Steve’s face, his pupils dilated; he licks his slick, swollen lips and swallows his moans, hands trailing down his back to grab his ass, pulling the cheeks apart to open him up. Steve whimpers, grinds down against Bucky’s cock, and they both gasp in each other’s mouths.

“Let me help?” Bucky offers, waits for Steve’s nod to slide his middle finger deep in him alongside Steve’s two digits. He’s already so slick, and warm, so warm inside. There’s something very intimate about slowly opening him up, their fingers working together, exchanging filthy, deep kisses.

“I want to ride you,” Steve breathes once he deems himself ready, and who’s Bucky to deny him?

“Anything you want, sweetheart.”

Steve gathers some of the lube on Bucky’s stomach and distributes it on his cock, then positions himself over it. He bites his lip as he descends on it with a satisfied groan. He wiggles a bit on his lap and braces his hands on his chest to set a fast pace, in no mood for more teasing. He’s perfect, beautiful as he chases his own pleasure, and he feels amazing. Bucky couldn’t ask for more, except maybe contribute some help of his own. He plants his feet on the bed and meets Steve’s thrusts, gripping his hips in a tight hold and giving him everything he’s got; he knows Steve can take it.

Steve leans back, rests his hands on each side of Bucky’s knees, exposing his muscular torso, his bouncing thick cock, the long column of his neck. Bucky wraps his metal hand around the enticing dick and pumps it fast, shifting his hand’s temperature to be warmer.

Steve moans loudly, his body going tense, before he’s cumming, his hole clenching around Bucky so tight. Bucky milks him until he’s got nothing more to give, his own orgasm coiling at the base of his spine. He straightens up and gathers Steve in his arms, fucking him hard. The bed protests, but Bucky barely notices, not when Steve tugs hard on his hair and orders him to come in his husky, commanding voice.

Bucky’s orgasm is so strong he shakes through it and can’t see or hear anything for a few seconds. When he comes back down to earth, Steve is stroking his beard, soft and pliant against him. They grin at each other.

He's sated and dozing on Steve's firm pectorals when he remembers something he meant to ask.

"What did you tell the other universe's Steve and Strange to convince them to help us?" He turns a bit, slides his leg between Steve’s and presses their thighs together. He's so warm, Bucky loves cuddling him.

Steve blinks owlishly at him. "Um..." Obviously he'd hoped Bucky would forget about it.

"Was it something embarrassing?"

"No, but at the time I was... I said we needed to make it out alive because I hadn't told you how much I love you yet."

Bucky doesn’t know what to say to that, and he gapes at him for a moment. “That’s so cheesy!” he finally exclaims and kisses him soundly. Steve grabs the back of his neck and opens his mouth to him. Bucky doubts he’ll ever tire of this: the feel of his slick lips and his tongue, the press of his nose against his.

Steve keeps his eyes closed when they separate, breathing hard. His lashes are so long and pretty, he can’t help but drag his metal index finger along them, very lightly. He’s always wanted to do that. They tickle.

Steve kisses his palm with a small, intimate smile, his own hands sliding down Bucky’s back. “Remember when you said your mission was to bring me back home? I wanted to say that it shouldn’t be, because my home isn’t a place, never has been.”

What else can Bucky do but cover his face with the sweetest kisses he can muster?

“Good thing you didn’t say anything, I probably would’ve punched you.”

Steve’s startled laughter echoes in the bedroom, over the birds chirping outside.

 

 

Everything returns to normal over the following days. Life in the Avengers tower is surprisingly calm and uneventful, and it gives Bucky a breather.

The chance to visit and run off the worlds with Steve, as dangerous and unpredictable as they were, has made him remember how it feels to be alive. He doesn’t have the capacity to be as sappy as Steve, so he doesn’t tell him that. Instead he shows him. He hugs him tighter when Steve comes back from a mission, banters with him until they’re both breathless from laughing and cuddles with him at night, even when nightmares make it impossible for him to sleep.

He realizes they've become very domestic on a day when he's throwing his cutting knife in the air and catching it while he's pretending to slice fruits. Steve is watching the Captain America themed waffle maker he got him a while back—it makes a star design in the waffle instead of the traditional criss-crosses—because he doesn't trust the timer after they’ve had a few too many burnt accidents. Steve had asked him what he wanted for breakfast while they were still in bed and Bucky had asked for waffles, so he's making him waffles. Now, he feels fuzzy every time he glances at Steve, who's looking ridiculously handsome in an apron that says "Kiss the cook" and a pair of sweatpants, leaving the wide expanse of his muscular back bare.

Bucky finishes preparing the fruits and places them on a plate, then retrieves the maple syrup. The air smells of cinnamon and coffee, and he's really hungry. He plasters himself against Steve's back, kissing the beginning of his spine, but it's just a distraction to try and sneak a waffle away from him.

Steve snickers at the attempt and lets him, accepts a piece when Bucky presses it against his lips, and Bucky's sure the way he licks his fingers clean afterwards is nothing accidental.

They sit down to eat and it's quiet. They talk about a museum of technology Bucky wants to visit, even though Tony claims it's archaic stuff and there's nothing interesting.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Bucky goes to his room to retrieve a book. "I was wondering which one you preferred." He points at the window designs on the page.

Steve frowns down at it, then up at him. "Is this the architecture book that was in my closet?"

Bucky shrugs, looks sheepish for a second because he’s forgotten that’s where he got it from, a little bit after their journey through the multiverse. "I've been reading it for a while. Why were you hiding it anyway?"

Steve flicks through the pages, notices the bookmarks and the notes written on post-its. _Best way to build foundations, how to make a water system that lasts, how to properly insulate the walls for winter...._ "I wasn't thinking about this project anymore."

"Well I think it's time we look into it."

"We?"

"What, you don't want to build a house with me?"

Steve stares at Bucky in silence. Just when Bucky thinks maybe it's not a good idea, Steve cradles his face and presses a lingering kiss against his lips, too emotional for words.

"I love you so, so much," he says, his voice thick.

Bucky smiles, heart full. "Not as much as I love you." He clears his throat. "So, which windows?"

Steve settles against him and looks at the book again. "Shouldn't we start by looking at lots?"

Bucky fidgets with a page. "Well, actually..."


	2. Deleted Scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gladiator baths scene was originally a reunion between Bucky and Steve, but I decided to change it because I thought it didn't fit with the plot. I felt sad I couldn't include Steve and Bucky rubbing each other with oil, so I decided to share the deleted scene with you. Enjoy!

After many of what he assumes are detours meant to disorient him, they arrive at a vast tall room with long benches and a huge marble bath carved in the floor. Other prisoners are already there washing themselves, humans and non-humans. Some have bigger cybernetics than him, and is that a dinosaur being rubbed with oil? He notices most of them have a towel for modesty, but others don’t seem to mind and walk around naked.

Morgan leads him to a locker-like room on the side, unbinds him with a snap of her fingers, and promptly orders him to undress.

Bucky scowls, having enough of his privacy ripped away from him in the past. Sadly he doesn’t have the chance to see how much damage he can do to her, the guard assigned to him puts herself between the both of them, facing her.

"Contestants are allowed the privacy of the baths. You can leave now."

The timbre of her voice is so similar, even if he hasn't had the chance to talk with the god a lot before. Power emanates from her, and the look on Morgan's face is all he needs to know. If she goes against the guard's words, she will be dealt with.

"Fine. You better fight as good as your temper: I bet a lot of money on you."

Bucky's scowl deepens, but he doesn't say anything and watches her go, which is a satisfaction in itself. As much as he doesn't like her attention, he'd rather it be on him than on Steve.

Thor indicates Bucky where the towels are, so he quickly removes his pants and puts it around his middle before returning to the main area. How is he supposed to wash himself with oil?

He sits on a bench away from the others and watch what they're doing. Someone rubs oil all over himself and scrapes it off with a small tool, before soaking in the bath.

There's a vial on the bench beside him with the same tool. Bucky dribs some oil on his fingers, smells it. He recognizes [whatever]. He's got to do this, he supposes. He rubs the liquid on his flesh arm, then his chest, and he's starting on his legs when he hears a familiar "Buck!" and a hand on his shoulder. He starts, almost drops the vial on the floor.

"Ugh, what is that?" Steve complains, his hand covered in oil, and Bucky can't help it, he snickers and engulfs him in a hug.

"I've missed you, punk." Steve only has a ridiculously small towel around his hips, which makes the embrace a lot more intimate and personal, and Bucky lets him go before he becomes too overwhelmed.

"It's oil. Gladiator fights mean gladiator baths, apparently.”

Steve lets out an annoyed puff, then his gaze lowers. It's almost comical how quick he turns around, the tip of his ears red, and pretends to assess the other persons in the room.

"Why not normal showers?"

"Because that Doom ruler gets high on people's misery," Bucky quips. There's no way doing this with Steve won't be a torture. He resumes coating his body with the oil. It makes his skin warm up pleasantly, at least.

He focuses on using the scraping tool and not ogle Steve turning into an oiled up god. There's other muscular men in here too, but they're not the one who's he's in love with. Because that's what it is, right? The weird feeling in his chest isn't the magic, it's love. Why does he have to be thrown in parallel universes to realize this, when they’re stuck separated and forced to be a part of some twisted game?

Steve grumbles under his breath, his fingers slippery and unable to hold the small device. Bucky inwardly sighs.

"Let me do it," he hears himself say. There's still some oil residue on him, but he doesn't think he's meant to remove it all. Soaking in the bath will help with that.

"I'll figure it out,” Steve protests, stubborn.

The guards aren't even paying attention to them. Bucky deftly steals the tool from Steve, glaring half-heartedly at him. "It's fine. Beside, we need to make a plan. Have you found anything useful?"

He starts at his arms, wiping the residue on a cloth. Steve doesn't move, barely breathes. He swallows loudly, and Bucky would be laughing if he wasn't feeling the same. "Strange is the sheriff here. There has to be a way to get his attention, he could help us out of here."

"How is he the sherriff for some lunatic?”

“Something’s up with the people here, they’re not themselves. How could any Thor bend to Doom’s will otherwise?”

“Most of my magic has been disabled by Morgan, but I don't think she knows you have some too."

Steve nods. "I'll try more spells, maybe there's something I haven't discovered yet that could be useful."

"Mm." While a plan forms itself through their low murmurs of rebellion, he quickly attacks his chest with the scrapper, and crouches in front of him to get it on with his legs too. He has to remind himself he's not there to ogle, so he stops his imagination from carrying himself and doesn't peek under the towel either. It's his friend -- his highly attractive, built to the peak of human perfection and deliciously blushing, friend.

"There's just your back now," he announces, pushes himself back to his feet and readjusts his towel.

"My back?" Steve blinks at him, that tall man rendered to a flustered mess. Bucky can't help but blush back, the idiot that he is, and he wants to kiss him so bad, suck on that plump lip and bite into it so every time it throbs, Steve remembers him. They're both idiots. He gestures at Steve to turn around, and he does with sudden comprehension.

Bucky doesn't want to think too much about how his metal hand registers the soft texture of Steve's skin and the firm muscles underneath rolling to his touch. He’s flawless. The large shoulders give way to a narrow waist, small dimples on each side of his spine. Sacral dimples, he faintly recalls, forcing himself not to linger, but oh, that tiny towel would be so easy to push away.

Scraping the excess doesn’t take as much time, and he works quickly.

“I remember Strange mentioning being able to project his astral body just as much as his physical one. I might give it a shot, however the fuck he does that.” Steve’s back straightens when he takes a deep breath, and there’s a hitch in his voice that makes Bucky pause. They’re surrounded by people, but how he wishes he could tug him in his arms and give him all the comfort he deserves.

“Hey,” he softly says instead as he indicates he’s done. “It’s going to be fine. We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

Steve nods, eyes downcast and brows furrowed.

“You’ve made portals connected through the multiverse, astral projection is just the next step, am I right?” He continues with more lightness than he feels. Steve likes plans, and if he focuses on one, they will make it out. It seems to work, Steve nodding again with more firmness.

“Right.” He huffs, his mouth uplifting in a crooked smirk that has no right to heat up Bucky this way. “Turn around, it’s my turn now.”

Truth is, Bucky has hoped he wouldn’t do his back. He’s not as beautiful as Steve, hyperaware of how he looks, years of being hurt and fixed back just for another mission leaving its toll on him.

He hesitates but for a second, swiping his gaze around to distract himself. Steve shifts behind him, then drips the oil directly across his back. It drips down his spine, tickling him.  Before it slips down his towel, large fingers sweeps the drops away, and the gesture is so affectionate and gentle against his lower back that he shivers.  
  
There's no way Steve hasn't felt that. He doesn't say anything though, spreads the oil with sure movements. He takes more time than Bucky has for him. Does he think the scars are ugly, his shoulder's thicker skin uneven and weird to the touch? Bucky works his bottom lip with his teeth, doesn’t dare to break the silence. He can’t deny the impromptu massage feels amazing, however, but too soon Steve swipes the oil excess away, and they’re off for the bath.

Most of the other contestants are gone, only the t-rex is soaking in the water when they step in after an uncomfortable silence when they realize they have to drop the towel. Steve steps in the water first, face red, and Bucky gets a glimpse of his toned ass before he turned his gaze away.

Bucky sighs once he’s surrounded by the hot water, seated in front of Steve. He stretches his legs, his foot finding Steve's thigh, and he laughs when Steve sweeps his fingers against the arch of his foot before he wraps them around his ankle, his thumb stroking the skin there.  

Bucky relaxes, sharing a comfortable silence with Steve, but of course it's then he notices something that makes him want to disappear in the water.

Cameras, hidden through the structure of the room. He's distraught he hasn't noticed them earlier, and now he feels disgusted. He gestures at one corner and begins to scrub the oil off.

"Now I know why these baths exist."

**Author's Note:**

> The universes were respectivelly inspired by Earth-14118, 13159, 90214 and 15513. I threw a lot of winks for the comics fans, I hope some of you will catch them!
> 
> You can also find me on [Tumblr](http://captain-amoruca.tumblr.com/)!


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